Creekfield
by Cutethulhu
Summary: "Movin' into Creekfield will be the best decision of your life, hoss."
1. Prologue moRE LIKE PROFART AHAHAHA fuck

1:18 PM  
SOMEWHERE, NEW MEXICO

"I can't believe you've never driven before."

"Never really got the chance," Scout shrugged, "Family and I was always kinda poor as shit, couldn't afford it. Bummed rides off pals, took the bus… that kind 'a stuff- _woah_"

Engineer's hand shot out and steadied the steering wheel with a firm hand, guiding the truck back into the right lane. He had just let go of the wheel when Scout managed to drive over a rock on the road. The whole truck shook and there was a worrying, metallic clang from somewhere in the truck bed. The Texan was willing to admit that his truck wasn't new, and hadn't been for a long time, but at the very least he considered it a reliable, old friend. Close to him as any of his teammates. Closer depending on the man.

So naturally when Scout's youthful confidence in driving through a desert highway devoid of people to hit began to falter, Engineer figured it was simply nerves that were causing the truck to gradually speed up and swerve.

"You gotta slow down, Scout. Jus' cause there ain't nobody to come pull ya over for speedin' don't mean yer not drivin' awful dangerous…"

"Uh, Engie? It ain't my fault. My foot's on the brakes. I don't think they're workin'…"

Before Engineer could react, there was a groan of metal and, with a loud boom, the hood sprung up in a cloud of smoke. Scout yelped and let go of the wheel, opting to shield his eyes while Engineer scrambled to take his place, straining against the seatbelt as he grabbed the steering wheel.

"The brakes, Scout! The brakes!" he yelled.

"I just said they don't fuckin' work, man!" Scout yelled back as Engineer pulled the truck off the road and into the dirt. The truck struck another rock and, as one side lifted off the ground, both of the men in the vehicle could swear their hearts skipped a handful of beats. Luckily, the truck unceremoniously righted itself with a heavy bounce that caused Engineer and Scout to bang heads.

Scout reeled back, clutching his head. As soon as he opened his eyes, he instantly shut them again. The truck was on a collision course towards one of the many skeletons of shacks that lined the highway.

"Oh _SHIT_!" Scout tossed his arms over his eyes as if it would protect him from impending harm.

"What?" clinging to the dashboard, Engineer eased himself off of the younger driver's lap and immediately regretted his decision.

The truck rammed into the shack, wrenching Engineer off the seats, snapping his seatbelt in the process while Scout smacked his head against the steering wheel. An earsplitting screech danced through their heads as a wire fence caught on the driver's side door and dragged. Dry, rotting wood battered the windshield as the truck finally stopped with a thud.

The men inside lay there for some time, disoriented as all hell and unsure of whether or not they were still alive. Then, Scout pulled himself away from the steering wheel, rubbing his stinging forehead.

"Fuck…" he whimpered. He drew his hand away from his forehead to find blood smeared across his fingers.

Pulling himself out of the tight space between the seats and the dashboard, Engineer looked to Scout and then pawed open the door.

"Turn the car off, boy. No need to start a fire," he said.

Scout obliged with shaky hands and exited the car at the same time as his teammate.

"Fuck…" Scout repeated himself as he looked at the entirety of the wrecked truck lodged into the abandoned shack.

As much as he wanted to be mad at the young man, all Engineer could do was marvel at how utterly wrecked his pride and joy was.

"Well," he managed, hands on his hips and eyes wide in stupor.

"Look, Engie. I'm _really_ sorry-" Scout began.

"As ya should be, but it ain't completely yer fault," Engineer interrupted, tracing his gloved gunslinger over the ruined hood that hung over the engine by a single hinge, "This ain't _that_ bad, heck, I could prolly fix it up good as new- maybe even better! I just need to get my…"

Engineer talked as he walked over to the truck bed only to find the tailgate hanging open, the luggage that had been contained in it long gone.

"…toolbox."

"Uhh, Engie?" Scout asked as he watched Engineer's hands draw into fists.

"Get in to the truck for a sec, will ya? And close the doors," the Bostonian did as he was told in fearful awe of the rageful quiver in Engineer's tone.

What happened next could be described as comical, if Scout hadn't developed a fear of the Texan's temper right then and there. Scout's bleeding forehead began to get unbearable and he undid the wrappings on his right hand so he could use them to mop up the blood on his forehead. He didn't take his eyes off his fellow RED.

Engineer stomped around outside shouting muffled profanities that could have made a sailor balk and kicking up cloud after cloud of dirt. After two or so minutes, the short man finally burned out and fell on his behind in the dirt, his sour expression remaining. Scout carefully opened the door, wincing when something by the engine went 'clunk'.

"Hey Engie?"

He didn't speak for some time, but just as Scout opened his mouth to ask again, he answered.

"Sorry, boy. Y-Ya didn't need to see that."

"It's cool. I was just gonna say… it's a bit cooler in here. In the truck…"

"Alright, I'm comin'. Do we still have any drinks or did we lose 'em?" Engineer got to his feet and got into the passenger seat, shoulders slumped. Scout searched his feet and the dashboard for their lunch sacks, realizing that he had tossed them in the back before insisting that he try driving.

"Lost 'em…" Scout muttered, turning over his wrappings. "What do we do now?"

"I dunno…" Engineer shrugged.

Overhead, the sun bore down on the parched land like a white-hot eye.

It was about an hour later when salvation finally came their way in a little white Volkswagen. There was a squeak of tires as the remarkably clean car pulled to the side of the road, just behind the wrecked truck. Curious, Scout cranked down the window and poked his head out into the hot afternoon sun, craning his neck so he could see the newcomer.

It was a woman, and a pretty woman at that.

She had shoulder-length brown hair, curled at the ends and wore a powder blue dress with a pearl necklace. Truth be told, she didn't look like she belonged in the middle of dusty nowhere at all.

"C-Can I help ya, ma'am?" Scout asked, swatting off his hat.

"Can_ I_ help_ you_?" there was a bounce in her step as she approached the truck, her sparkling cleanliness so out of place in the burning desert that she seemed more like a mirage than an actual person. For some reason, it put Engineer on guard as he silently watched the exchange from the passenger seat. Scout, however, was blissfully unaware of whatever strange vibes the woman might be giving off.

"Hell yeah you can!" Scout almost banged his already injured head on the ceiling as he fumbled with the door handle, "You're like a savin' grace, lady! We thought we were dead out he-_yee_!"

"No we didn't," Engineer hissed, pulling the Bostonian back into the car by the back of his shirt.

"_I_ did," Scout hissed back, wrenching his shirt out of Engineer's grasp. "Lay off, will ya? Maybe she can help!"

"…I guess yer right," Engineer sat back. He shouldn't have lashed out the way he did, but there was just this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that urged him to be cautious of the woman that now lurke-stood beside the door. "Just… Just behave yerself, will ya?"

Scout didn't reply, but instead turned back to the woman.

"Sorry 'bout that," he laughed, "this ol' man's just kinda crazy, 's all."

"Crazy?" Engineer repeated incredulously, but went ignored.

"It's no problem at all," the woman chuckled, "Where are you guys coming from?"

"Teufort. Uh, the town Teufort, not any secret bases or anythin', just the town. Yeah." Engineer shot Scout a disapproving glare as he ran his mouth off.

"Oh, I've heard of that place. Is it nice?"

"It's… it's nice enough. But what I wanna know is where's a pretty-lookin' girl like you comin' from?" Scout asked. The woman giggled at the shameless compliment while Engineer rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I was visiting this little city just about two hours out. Normally I don't even have to leave my own town, Creekfield, but I just couldn't find this one fabric I needed. I'm actually on my way home right now!"

"Is Creekfield near here?" Engineer asked. He couldn't remember any towns by the name of Creekfield, but decided to take the woman's word. It was probably another one of those cookie-cutter developments that seemed to spring up overnight.

"Yes, it's just about an hour from here," she shifted her weight from one glossy high heel to the other, "Would you boys like to come with me? We've got a mechanic who wouldn't mind coming out and taking a look at your truck at all!"

"Thank you for the offer, but our frien-" Engineer was about to decline when Scout once again eclipsed his view of the woman, practically jumping out of the driver's side window.

"Of course we'd like to! C'mon, Engie, she can help!"

Engineer looked from Scout to the newcomer. The others wouldn't notice their absence for at least a day, and it'd be foolish to try and walk to the nearest town when here stood a ride that would get them there and save them hours of trouble.

"You sure yer town mechanic'll be able to find this ol' girl?"

"Definitely! In fact, I bet he could get it fixed up for you by morning if you're willing to stay!"

Engineer thought for a while, then nodded to Scout who struggled to contain his excitement as he got out of the busted truck.

"Awright, fine. We'll go with ya so long as you tell us yer name, first."

The woman smiled as they got into her car.

"Fair enough. You can call me Joanna."

* * *

5:56 AM  
DOUBLECROSS, CALIFORNIA

It was in the dim violet mist of the morning that the boom of a shotgun roused every member of RED from their beds, pulling on pants and clambering for the closest firearm.

All but two, anyways.

Six now very wide awake men hurried to the source of the shot, the mess hall, only to arrive at a scene that had become disturbingly common since their employment at RED.

On the linoleum lay a man in a nondescript trench coat, the upper half of his head blown clean off in a gory spray across the already stained floor. As if completely oblivious to the mess, Soldier sat in a chair at the table, engrossed in the morning paper and a mug of coffee. Leaning against the table was a still smoking shot gun.

Noticing the presence of his teammates, Soldier looked up, his loose helmet following his movement.

"Only a coward sneaks up on a man before he's had his morning cup of joe," the American stated, curt as ever before turning back to the latest news on the election.

"You're supposed to _ask questions_ before you shoot and wake the whole bloody base, ya dimwit," Demoman groaned before shuffling into the kitchen and stepping over the dead body.

"I prefer to shoot first, ask questions later," Soldier responded and took a long sip of his coffee. One by one, the members of RED filtered into the mess hall, only Medic thinking to situate the corpse against the wall.

"Ya can't ask a dead man questions, mate," Sniper cut in moving behind Demoman to wait for the coffee machine to work its magic.

"Then why do Ouija boards exist? Explain _that_ one, Bible-o Babkins!"

"Gentlemen, _gentlemen!" _There was a crackle of audio as Medic adjusted the volume control on the small television strapped to the dead messenger. The woman on the screen was none other than the Administrator, reclining in her chair with a cold calm as always.

"G'morning, ma'am!" Soldier stumbled to attention, tipping over his chair and standing in a rigid solute. In his striped boxers and tee shirt, he looked like even more of a caricature than normal.

"_Save the formalities, will you? It's too early in the morning to be dealing with you men of all people,"_ a tuft of smoke escaped the Admin's lips as she exhaled her delicate cigarette, _"Yet here I have to be. Do you know why?"_

"Does it have anything to do with us shooting your messengers as per usual?" Spy asked from his spot against the doorway.

"_No, that is a discussion for another time. This is about your Engineer and Scout's sudden and suspicious resignations."_

"_Resgination_?!" Every man in the room's head almost snapped as their undivided attention was grabbed.

"_Yes, resignations. I was informed by Miss Pauling at some ungodly hour that both Engineer and Scout called at virtually the same time to resign from their positions as mercenaries."_

"Did they say why?"

"_Apparently, Engineer fell in love with the town they are staying at and Scout is getting married."_

"Scout? Married?" Spy snorted incredulously.

"_Laugh all you want, Spy, but your teammates, or ex-teammates as it is, were dead serious and hung up shortly after."_

"So what do you want us to do?" Sniper asked as he poured himself some coffee.

"_Isn't it obvious? Find them. I will give you their exact locations as traced from their calls, and you'll go and retrieve them. If they refuse, you are to kill them. Such is company policy."_

"Hold on, ma'am. I've done a lot of things for you, but what makes you think I'm going to up and kill my own men?" Soldier demanded.

"_I suspect you may not have to. Like I said, the calls were suspicious,"_ the woman shrugged, _"At this point, you all know as much as I do about the situation. I don't like that. Now, do what I told you to before I decide to take it out of your pay!"_

* * *

6:25 PM  
EL BUTTFUCK NOWHERE, NEW MEXICO

The sun was red and heavy as it gradually descended over the desolate highway. Trash and sand lingered in the hot evening air, shifting ever-so slightly as the road began to sound with the mounting vibrations of an approaching vehicle. A gnarled scrap of a milk jug seemed to leap out of the road as the car, a weathered but sturdy camper van, roared by.

There wasn't much to say that hadn't already been said. Enclosed in the messenger's coat was a marked map leading to where Miss Pauling had traced Engineer and Scout's calls. The location itself was uncharted. The route to it was marked in a ballpoint pen arrow leading to a star labeled "Creekfield".

Needless to say, the men of RED spent several hours backtracking their route from Teufort to Doublecross looking for an unmarked exit uncomfortably piled inside of Sniper's van. Now that it was nearing late evening, everybody was at his wit's end.

"'m startin' to feel like we were sent on a wild goose chase," Demoman muttered from the passenger seat.

"Could be, but where are Scout and Engineer, then?" Sniper asked as he scanned the road for exits.

"Dunno. Perhaps the lad convinced Engineer to stop somewhere for the night?"

Sniper hummed, but couldn't think of a response. Demoman lapsed into the silence as well and shifted himself to face out the window. Snippets of muffled conversation from inside the camper were the only sounds to punctuate the silence. Sniper hoped that the mercenaries inside weren't going through his belongings.

"Hey," Demoman spoke up once more, his attention still focused on the monotonous landscape, "Pauling said they called from a place called Creekfield, eh?"

"Yeah, that's right," Sniper answered.

"Look. To the left," Demoman pointed out the window to a long, winding exit road with a sign hanging above it. In looping black paint, the name _"Creekfield"_ was proudly displayed to the indifferent and barren desert highway.

"Well I'll be," Sniper said as he switched on his turn indicator. The van wobbled precariously as Sniper just barely made the turn onto the road and a "whoop!" from the camper signified that he had caught one of his wary passengers off guard with the sudden motion.

The road continued for at least an hour, twisting and turning in every which way until they arrived at Creekfield. It was as if Sniper had driven off the edge of the world and taken them to this strange parody of heaven on Earth.

The sand had been replaced by rich green grass while suburban houses like something out of a postcard stood against the setting sun, their purity seemingly immune to the dust and heat of the desert. Shiny cars appeared from either side of Sniper's old beast of a van, driving behind or in front of them at an uncomfortable distance before they pulled into driveways. One by one, every single driveway had a car to call its own, and one by one, every man that came out would be welcomed by his lovely wife and disappear into his picturesque home.

The RED mercenaries felt so out of place in this domestic world that Sniper almost rammed the van right into one of the very men they were looking for.

"Engineer?"


	2. 1: Welcome to Creepfield

6:37 PM  
CREEKFIELD, NEW MEXICO

"Engineer?" Sniper asked incredulously, "Is that you, mate?"

"Sure is!" Engineer replied, smiling one of his wildly infectious smiles, "But you know you can just call me Dell, right? We're all friends here."

"Engine-Dell, we've been lookin' all over for you! What the hell have you been doing?" Sniper turned off the van and got out. Demoman and the others followed suit, piling out of the back door of the camper to gape at their friend's strange metamorphosis.

"Didn't you hear? I up an' quit. I'm tired a' fightin' and this town Creekfield's really just so nice, so I'm stayin'!" Engineer had switched out his uniform overalls for a pair of slacks and a light blue plaid shirt. His helmet and goggles were also missing revealing blue eyes that betrayed genuine happiness. Needless to say, he looked better than he had in a long, long time.

"Dell you're gotta come back with us whether you like it or not. You're under a contract," Sniper tried to reason with the short Texan.

"Not anymore. I said I was quittin' an' I meant it, too!" Engineer insisted, though his expression had not soured at all.

"You know what this means we have to do, right?" Spy appeared over Sniper's shoulder, his tone grim.

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?"

The group situated on the driveway turned to face the newcomer. A short, portly man stood just a few feet away with a regal greyhound on a long, red leash. He had a round, pinkish face with a well groomed beard and sideburns. There was a twinkle in his great hazel eyes that matched that of the one in Engineer's. Sniper fancied he looked a little like Santa Claus.

"Not at all, Mr. Campbell. How are you this fine evening?" Engineer asked, the seriousness of his situation completely lost on him.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you. Are these gentlemen your friends?"

"They sure are! Used ta work with 'em back at RED."

Sniper noticed Spy's eyes widen at the casual mention of RED. The Australian could read the question forming on the usually unreadable man's lips. How much did this Campbell bloke know?

"Oh, well in that case, I welcome you to Creekfield," Campbell said, addressing the men hanging around Sniper's van with a cautious attachment, "I'm the mayor, Mr. Campbell. Amos Campbell, if you may. Are you perhaps in the market for new homes?"

"No, no," Sniper shook his head, "We're ah, we're actually here for personal reasons. Between us and our mate Dell. Kind of a private matter."

"Oh, I see. Well, as long as it doesn't involve heckling my good friend into moving out as quickly as he moved in, now. You'll find Creekfield is a very close community and we're already _very_ fond of him and Hogarth."

"Hogarth?" Heavy echoed from his place against the van.

"He's one of your friends too, isn't he? He and Dell were traveling together when they arrived here. I must admit; he's quite a show."

"Is 'e talkin' about Scout?" Demoman asked quietly.

"I think? Never caught the kid's name…" Sniper muttered back. Demoman chuckled.

"Not sure if 'e ever wanted us to wit' a name like that," Demoman continued to snicker as he uncapped his bottle of scrumpy, "God, this is so bizarre."

"Where is this Hogarth living?" Heavy asked, stumbling over the Scout's name and stifling a laugh.

"Just down the street, my friend. Ask one of the neighbors where Joanna lives, you'll find him there," Mayor Campbell smiled.

Heavy nodded. His plan was clear.

"Why do you want to know, if you don't mind me asking?" Campbell asked after some thought.

"He is my friend. I would like to see how he is," it seemed as if the large Russian wanted to challenge the mayor with his intentions, but thought better of making an enemy of him so soon.

"Then I shouldn't delay you any longer, my good man. Come, Esther," Mayor Campbell tugged the greyhound's leash and turned to return in the direction he came from, his evening walk disrupted. Esther cast one backward glance at the intimidating human strangers before obediently following her master.

"Oh! And one more thing," the mayor stopped and turned around, "I speak for all of Creekfield when I say this: We're a very tolerant and open community, but don't go rousing trouble, now, or we'll be as firm as we need to."

"We understand," Spy spoke, as the others were wordless at the cordial mayor's sudden change in tone.

"Good. I'm certain you'll enjoy it here, however long you need to stay," Campbell's smile returned, but as he turned back around, the setting sun caught his eyes and gave them a wily, cat-like look.

It wasn't until after the mayor had turned around the street corner did time seem to resume.

"So d'you guys want to come in an' discuss this over dinner?"

The mercenaries exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"Sure?"

* * *

9:59 PM

Silverware clinked against plates, punctuating the tension that hung over the men crowded around the dinner table like a thick, invisible fog.

Engineer said he had moved in yesterday, but the house was completely furnished, like something out of a catalogue. Demoman didn't want to suspect Engineer had been planning this as an escape from the war, but with the way things looked, it seemed like the most plausible explanation for the short man's easy assimilation into Creekfield.

Not to mention it still left one loose end: Scout.

Back at Teufort when they were arranging rides, Scout had been paired with Engineer at random, Plenty of factors could have affected the makeshift hat raffle, but Engineer's good-willed acceptance of the pairing and Scout's 4 a.m. apathy towards any and everything seemed genuine enough. It was unlikely that Scout had been in on any plan the Texan might have had.

Scout had said he was getting married, though. Pretty women did tend to have a way of changing the lad's mind, Demoman's own mind reasoned against his intuition. Perhaps it was the whiskey Engineer had provided from his reasonably stocked liquor cabinet that was making him so argumentative with himself.

Demoman sighed and leaned back in his seat.

"Had enough, mate?" Sniper asked. The Australian had taken a seat next to him in a fold-out chair Engineer had pulled up from the garage, absentmindedly poking at his meal. The day's events had left him without an appetite as well, Demoman figured looking at his own untouched dinner.

Across the table, Engineer had finished his chicken and struck up idle conversation with Heavy about the community. The Russian seemed interested enough, and Demoman wondered if he was doing some sleuthing of his own or just humoring his alleged ex-teammate until it came time to dispose of him as dictated by company policy.

"Tavish?" Demoman turned to Sniper again, realizing he had never answered him.

"Oh, sorry, yeah. I think I'm through," Demoman pushed the empty glass away. All the liquor in the world wouldn't dampen the bad vibes he was getting from this place, and there was no use in trying. "You know, I'm goin' to go get some fresh air."

Sniper stood up with him, "I think I will too, actually. Hey Dell, mind if we step out for a bit?"

"Not at all. Go right ahead," Engineer waved them along, "So as I was sayin', this girl shows up late ta school, an' the teacher says…"

Demoman walked down the hall and out the door at a brisk pace and didn't stop until he was leaning against the wall of Sniper's van, which had since been moved up onto the driveway. It wasn't long before Sniper was leaning next to him, unwrapping a peppermint.

"Got one of those for me?" Demoman asked after Sniper popped the hard candy into his mouth.

"Sure," Sniper fished around in his pocket for another mint and handed it to the demolitions expert. "Nice night out."

"Yeah, shame this place is stinkin' it up," Demoman spat before unwrapping his peppermint.

"Smells jus' fine t' me…" Sniper searched Demoman's expression for an explanation, and when he found it, his lips formed an "O". "One of yer vibes?"

"Yeah, feels like ever since we arrived here things've been goin' from strange to stranger."

"Have to admit, that mayor bloke _was_ pretty weird-"

"Not _jus'_ the mayor, though," Demoman suddenly cut in, "All those men an' their wives, all lookin' the same, all perfect. Even Engineer looks just fine an' dandy!"

"And is that a bad thing?" Sniper asked, one eyebrow raised. There was a crunch as he bit down on his candy and broke it.

"You-God, you know what I mean, don't ya? He's different! He's- He's been changed! Hell, didn't you notice his hand? He cut it off and replaced it with a bloody robotic one! That same hand's flesh an' blood again jus' like magic! Son't ya see, Sniper? That can't be Engineer! That isn't Engineer!"

Sniper just stared at Demoman as the Scotsman drew heavy breaths through his nose.

"You're smashed," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"Y-You know me better than that," Demoman softened his tone, there was no need to wake the neighborhood. He wouldn't be able to stand their stares. "I don't get drunk off piss-whiskey."

"You brought some scrumpy too, didn't ya? Can get plenty drunk off that."

"For pete's sake, Sniper, I'm sober!"

"Yeah, hey, I'm just goin' to go back inside. When you do the same, you better not be wearin' a tinfoil hat," Sniper stalked back inside, hands in his pockets.

"Bleedin' twat," Demoman muttered before walking in the other direction and down the street. Fresh air. He just needed fresh air.

Demoman walked for a long time, thinking about everything he could. Everything but fucking Sniper and Creekfield. It wasn't long before the cold burned through the Scotsman's subconscious and he realized he was lost.

"Fuck it," Demoman said as he turned to face the way he thought he came. The suburbs piled up like eager demons, lawns gripping the sidewalk with a greedy, green anticipation just waiting for him to turn his back to them.

If the abundance of busy humans returning home at the exact same time for the evening had been weird, the complete absence of them was downright unnerving.

Demoman swallowed, turned around and headed for the shopping center. Every last store was closed, the uniform signs in the glass doors revealing they had been closed since five, That was at least five and a half hours ago. A phantom mist settled over the desert-dried streets, the asphalt black and shiny; brand spanking new. The bright, ghastly street lights provided wispy pockets of light along the sidewalk. They had no need to flicker. The air contained enough tangible yet almost wholly imaginary horrors to put even the most stomach-churning slasher flick to weeping shame. Overhead, the black sky roared as an airplane passed.

Like a tantalizing mirage, Demoman noticed a phone booth out of the corner of his eye and almost slapped himself. Miss Pauling would at least hear his suspicions all the way out. Given how many times she had been subject to his admittedly pathetic dead-drunken phone calls, perhaps a legitimate report could make up for it all, no matter how fanciful. The situation in its entirety didn't seem entirely real, after all.

Demoman approached the booth only to realize that the door was locked.

"What kind of town locks its bloody phone booths?" he asked aloud. It wasn't like anyone was around to hear him anyways.

"A secure one, sir," came a voice from behind.

Demoman turned around only to come face to face with a blinding light. He shielded his eyes and blinked away tears.

"Sorry, sir," the beam of light shifted down to the ground and revealed a policeman holding the offending flashlight. Demoman noted that the officer had no gun. He did, however, have a very fierce looking dobermann standing at attention at his side. There was no leash to restrain the dog to speak of. "Can you see better?"

"Yeah, thanks," the Scotsman rubbed at his good eye, "What's the problem, officer?"

"Haven't seen you around here before. Guess you don't know," the officer idly tossed his flashlight from hand to hand, the circle of light on the ground bouncing, "It's past town curfew. Everyone should be asleep right now, including any visitors."

"Well you're awake," Demoman cracked a grin.

"Don't try to be wise with me. I'm being civil, here. Now, if you'll come with me to the station…"

"Wait, why do I have ta go all th' way to the station with ya?" Demoman took a step back. The dobermann growled.

"I told you. You're out past town curfew. New in town or not, that's an offense. Now come with me."

"No. I'm not even new in town. I'd never live here if it was the last bloody place on earth!" Demoman tried to stand his ground, but the dobermann had begun to stalk forward, haunches distinct against shiny black fur.

"Then you're a stranger," the officer pressed, "A trespasser."

The hound was quickly closing the distance and Demoman felt as if he was being backed into a corner. He took another step back, and the dobermann barked. It echoed in the Scotsman's ears, and fear took over.

"You're a threat," came the officer's voice.

The dog leaped, and Demoman just narrowly dodged it. Cracks splayed across the phone booth's glass door from the dobermann's impact as it used the surface to change direction and bound after the mercenary, teeth bared.

Demoman's mouth burned with the ache of nighttime air in his lungs and the spice of alcohol on his tongue. Creekfield shook as he ran down streets and alleys, goaded by barks and howls.

Soon, the storefronts blurred into homefronts and he could feel himself wearing down. Still, the hellhound pursued tirelessly and still, he ran from it.

It seemed as if all the streets and backroads were leading to the same place. In the center of a roundabout sat an antiquated two-story house. Like all the others, the windows were dark and unwelcoming, but Demoman was running out of options fast. He saw an opportunity –the window to the cellar was ajar- and he went for it.

The Scotsman realized how tight a fit it was a second too late.

His feet had already left the pale curb and he found himself sliding across the dew-speckled grass in the blink of an eye. He was aware of nothing until a searing pain and the shatter of glass brought him back to earth. Gravity met him the rest of the way and he landed on his behind in the house's dark cellar.

Demoman's entire body ached as he got to his feet, hissing as he cut his palm on a shard of shattered glass. The Scotsman leaped when the rays of moonlight filtering in from the broken window frame were eclipsed by a snarling black snout, salivating and growling. To Demoman's surprise, the dobermann began to fit itself in through the window with some difficulty. His insides clenched at his shortsightedness.

Just when the hound was about to leap into the cellar, a whistle resounded through the night and it went stock still. Slowly, the subdued dobermann pulled itself back out the window and padded away, its collar jingling.

Demoman sighed in relief but almost choked on his breath when the officer walked up to the window, boots crunching in the grass. Demoman hurried into a corner and pressed himself flat against the cold brick wall. The officer stooped down and stuck the flashlight in through the window, the light bouncing off old furniture and cleaning supplies. Demoman felt like a trapped animal, watching his pursuer survey the damage with bated breath.

It was obvious he was down here, wasn't it? Why could he just come down and arrest him already and save him the pain of the wait? These questions buzzed in Demoman's head, dispersing like a panicked flock of birds when an eager bark caused the beam of light to twitch, engulfing the tip of his shoe in bright, nerve-wracking exposure.

Miraculously, it seemed the policeman was more interested in the cause of his dobermann's barking and switched off the flashlight. Slowly, the officer got to his feet and then jogged off.

Demoman gulped in sweet, beautiful oxygen as he pushed himself away from the wall. Then, he realized he had another challenge ahead of him: leaving the house without waking up its inhabitants.

Groping blindly in the dark, the only source of light uselessly shining on the ground in a pale square of moonlight, Demoman made his way along the walls of the cellar until his hands slipped down and met wooden stairs.

Smearing blood on his pants as he wiped the splinters and dust that tried to cling to his fingertips and bleeding palm, Demoman righted himself and began to ascend the steps.

The door to the rest of the house opened soundlessly to the gaping silence of the dark house. Demoman shivered, and pressed on without a thought. He could think this all over later when he was back at Doublecross with a glass of scrumpy and the comfort of all his friends in their right minds.

It wasn't until he reached the front door that he felt the effect of eyes burning into his back. He turned around and realized he was being watched this whole time. Ever since he entered this damnable town, he was being watched.

"You?" was all he could manage to utter.


	3. 2: Minus One

6:02 AM  
CREEKFIELD, NEW MEXICO

"Demoman's gone."

Sniper was standing at the end of the couch, fully dressed. He was whispering.

"What do you mean gone?" Soldier asked. His back was sore from adjusting to the stiffness of Engineer's couch all night. One would think the Texan's furniture would be as comfortable as it looked. Soldier wanted to knock that one's misleading brain right out his skull. Through his or her left ear.

"Just… gone. He went for a walk last night and guess he never came back," Soldier wondered why the Australian was being so quiet. He knew hiding was part of the man's job but remained of the opinion that if one had something to say, they shouldn't try to beat around the bush. Which was exactly what this one was doing.

"Why didn't you stop him? You went out with him, didn't ya?" Soldier pulled himself into a sitting position with a grunt, bare feet rubbing against the plush, beige carpet. It felt kind of weird to be placing his feet on anything but cold tile or concrete after doing so for many years. Comfort living wasn't his cup of joe.

"We had a bit of a spat and he must a' stormed off after I went back inside," Sniper was tapping the toe of his boot against the carpet. Hiding something, but unsure of whether or not he should spill the beans. Soldier ran his hands through his hair.

"What the hell could you two ladies've possibly fought about?" he grumbled, shrugging on his jacket. His belt ends clinked against each other.

"He was suspicious about this place. Actin' real paranoid, ya know? Said somethin' about Engineer…" Sniper's voice dropped lower when he felt he was being too loud, "…not bein' himself. Some sort a' Body-Switchers from Mars shit. I told him he was drunk and actin' like a real nutter. Guess it made him mad enough to up an' leave."

"So you think he left town," Soldier's boots were next. He unrolled his pants from their constricting bunch against his knees and pulled each boot on. The laces were starting to fray, much to his chagrin.

"But the problem is that he couldn't've. Me van's still here and I doubt he hotwired himself some other ride out," the toe-tapping returned, "I'm worried about him, mate."

"Me too, private," Soldier stood up and clapped on his helmet, his field of vision cut in half. Better to focus on the situation at hand. "Is everybody else up?"

"Yeah. They're all in the kitchen right now. Engie too. Says he's gotta leave for work in a few."

"Are we gonna let him?"

"I wanted to ask ya. Are we?"

Soldier thought for a moment. Demoman's suspicions made him question how much he could trust Engineer. Sniper obviously didn't anymore. Trustworthy and hardworking as he might have been, the Texan did jump ship. He was as good as a traitor at the moment. No, he couldn't be trusted. Not until they knew more than he did.

"I don't think we can really stop him. Man's a stubborn bastard; he'll probably just barrel right through us if we try."

"'lright, then. What do ya propose we do now?"

"Wait for Engineer to leave, then we'll plan our next move."

* * *

6:48 AM

The door did not slam as Engineer left for work. It merely clicked and gave off the illusion that perhaps it was not fully closed. It was, of course. Spy checked it to be sure after the sounds of Engineer's car faded away.

Because Demoman had disappeared sometime in the night, Heavy found himself keeping careful count of his remaining comrades.

There were four men at the table, and two in the living room.

Medic sat at his left, Spy at his right and Pyro across the table. Sniper had elected to go into the other room and rouse Soldier. Six men out of nine. Too few.

Silver screeched against ceramic as Spy pushed around his scrambled eggs, distaste twisting his lips. Heavy did not think Engineer's cooking was too bad (if anything, it had improved somehow) but perhaps Spy had eaten better before. Heavy did not doubt it.

Medic set his fork down on his napkin, muffling any sound the utensil would have made. His meal was only about half-eaten. Pyro just started down at their plate, still and quiet. Small rasps escaped their mask as they breathed. It seemed Heavy was the only one who had finished the meal.

Sniper and Soldier emerged from the living room silently and pulled up chairs from their places against the wall. Soldier spoke first.

"We have to find Scout."

"What happened to Demoman?" Medic asked, idly pushing his plate away with his index finger.

"We don't know yet," Soldier admitted, "But what we do know is where we can find Scout. If we find him, we may get an idea as to where Demoman might be if he didn't just go back to base."

"Might," Spy echoed glumly.

"It is better than just sitting here like fowl," Heavy said, standing up, "Maybe we should send another group out to find Demoman. Kill to stones with one bird."

No one bothered to correct Heavy. Instead, they stood up nervously. Going down the block to where Scout supposedly lived with his bride-to-be was one thing. Exploring the entire town in search of Demoman was another. This was not a battlefield. It was something far more dangerous.

In the end, the arrangement was for Heavy, Medic, and Sniper to go into town and look for Demoman while Soldier, Spy and Pyro would go try to convince Scout to return with them. Three men to each group. Half of six. Their numbers were getting fewer and fewer.

Engineer's door was left unlocked as nobody had a key to it. Heavy doubted the residents of Creekfield were the type to steal from a neighbor anyways. Everything about them seemed clean from their manners to their shoes. It was supposed to be a hot day, but the glow of the sun seemed to weaken once it reached the pleasantly secluded atmosphere that surrounded Creekfield. Bugs buzzed and trees rustled in a soft breeze while the pavement radiated a comfortable heat.

Medic headed Heavy's group with his brisk pace, hands professionally crossed behind his back. Ahead of the trio, the town center grew taller and taller behind the neat rows of houses. Much like the cars from yesterday, they soon found themselves surrounded by women.

Tall, short, thin, thick. All beautiful, all wearing dresses.

"Sorry," Heavy mumbled when he accidentally knocked sides with a shorter woman. She cast a quick, forgiving and strangely inviting before disappearing into the bustling crowd.

The small group of men reached a storefront displaying pots and pans in the large front window. An idle stream of women passed by in each direction like clockwork. Just the perfect amount of human female to make the streets appear lively but not so much that it became crowded.

"Do we want t'split up further?" Sniper asked, leaning against the display window. The store clerk behind the glass didn't glare at the Australian. He hardly even noticed the inherently dusty outdoorsman pressing his well-worn vest against the window. No, it seemed the clerk had more important things to do like making sure each pan was so clean it could blind an unsuspecting passerby. "This place is a lot bigger than it seems. We'd be able t'cover more ground."

"I am not opposed to it," Medic said.

"Then it is decided," Heavy stretched his great arms. He was a little wary of dividing even further, but he had enough confidence in the abilities of his comrades to hold their own against housewives, "We meet back at house at six."

Sniper nodded and wasted no time in slinking across the street when a gap appeared in the steady procession of commuting cars. When Heavy turned back around, he caught the sight of Medic's back as the German went on his own way.

Heavy lingered under the cookware shop's awning a little longer, vaguely aware that like in Creekfield was progressing around him as if he were a ghost. Slowly, he began to follow Medic's trail, gazing into display windows and glass doors as he went.

Creekfield was stunningly self-sufficient, the energy of a city condensed into a simple desert town. It had supermarkets by the dozen, a towering department store and countless other trades for every which need. The only service Heavy _couldn't_ seem to find was a hospital. He briefly entertained the thought of the people of Creekfield being immortal and having no need for human trivialities like injuries. Perhaps they even had respawn.

This of course, was just plain silly.

Still, the curiosity remained as Heavy turned down an alley to get out of the sunlight for a moment. The warmth of the desert sun could only be so pleasant before it became overbearing.

Even the alley seemed to lack an air of danger that was usually characteristic of one. Aside from a large dumpster and two back doors, the alley was empty. One of the doors, however, stood open and the hum of a large fan could be heard. Beside the short steps leading to the door lay a well-groomed Rottweiler.

The dog noticed Heavy and blinked its alert, brown eyes. It did not rise to meet the Russian however, simply resting as the large stranger approached it and extended a hand to pet it. Its tail wagged congenially.

"Hey there!"

Heavy's head snapped up into the back door where the voice had come from. A bear of a man (though Heavy could easily say the same for himself) stood in the middle of the room, meat cleaver in hand.

"Is this your dog?" Heavy asked, "I mean no harm to it…"

"Oh no, that's not what I was yellin' at ya for!" though his shape was intimidating, the butcher's face was a jovial red, "I need some help with movin' some packages into my delivery van. I only got so many arms an' you look like a strong enough guy…"

Heavy saw no threat in the other man's wide, white smile and entered the building. Behind him, the Rottweiler settled back into its nap.

The back room was strangely immaculate, the smell of meat present but not stifling. Multiple fans packed into every corner of the room could be attributed to the chill air that made the hair on Heavy's arms prickle.

The butcher, who introduced himself as Clyde, lead Heavy into the freezer where stack upon stack of packaged meat waited.

"We have an anniversary picnic comin' up soon," Clyde explained, "We're hopin' ta make it out biggest yet! Anyways, we only need about twenty of these packages for today's delivery."

"Where are they all going to be delivered to?" Heavy asked as he began to pick up the cold packages.

"Around, Some to the retirement home across town, the rest for restaurants. Typical places, ya know? Go ahead and wait out where ya came and I'll bring the van by."

Heavy did as he was told, careful not to drop any of the meat and found himself once again in the sleepy Rottweiler's company. This time, it didn't wake to greet him.

SSure enough, Clyde carefully backed a great white delivery van into the alley with practiced ease. Heavy waited for the van to come to a full stop before unlatching the door with a careful finger and climbing inside to load the packages in the back of the empty van.

Behind him, the van creaked as Clyde climbed in as well. There was something in his hands, but it was not a package.

"You never answered my question from before, I think," Heavy addressed the butcher as he worked with his back to him, "Is that your dog? She is very beauti-"

There was a resounding crack as Clyde struck Heavy over the head with a bar stool. Skull reeling, Heavy could only manage a feeble struggle as the giant bartender straddled him and removed a syringe from his apron pocket.

There was a sting, and then there was nothing.

Clyde silently exited the van and closed the doors, latching them with care. On the way inside to throw out the syringe, he bent down and pet his Rottweiler on the head. The dog's tail wagged in its sleep.

* * *

12:12 AM

Spy wasn't one to pass off a teammate's disappearance as mere desertion. No, explicable or not, if there was a loose end, it was his job to chase it down in every direction it split into.

Especially when the aforementioned teammate disappeared in a town that had already claimed two other RED mercenaries.

The walk to Scout's current abode was a short one. Mayor Campbell certainly wasn't lying when he said asking for Joanna was sure to point them in the right direction. Whoever this woman was, it seemed the entire street was enamored with her and her newly christened fiancé.

Joanna and Scout's house looked like all the others. Two stories, clean-cut lawn and a shiny, new car in the driveway. A picture of the American Dream.

Spy, Soldier and Pyro arrived just in time to see none other than Scout himself walk out the door in a stiff new suit (a jarring contrast to his regular wear) with a briefcase in hand. A beautiful woman, Joanna most likely, followed him out smiling from ear to ear. The scene was strangely unnerving.

"Scurrt!" Pyro called, interrupting the couple's kiss goodbye. Joanna cast the firebug a curious glance before turning back to Scout.

"Do you know them, honey?" She asked.

"Of course! I used to work with 'em," Scout answered.

"Used to?" Soldier scoffed, "Son, you're still working with us! You're coming back to Doublecross with the rest of us and fighting like a man! Not hiding out here and playing House with your Barbie doll! No offense to you, ma'am…"

"Oh yeah?" a spark of the old Scout flashed from beneath the mild-mannered young gentleman that stood before Soldier, measuring up to his collar, "Just you try ta make me. It's against the law to kidnap people."

"You think that's gonna stop me? It didn't stop me from kicking Nazi ass all across Europe and then some and it sure as hell isn't gonna stop me from kicking _yours _back to base!"

"Soldier, let me talk to him," Spy stuck his arm across Soldier, barring him from trying to strangle the young Bostonian.

Lighting himself a cigarette, Spy walked up the drive and grabbed Scout by the wrist.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," he nodded to Joanna, "May I have a few words with your fiancé?"

"Just don't keep him long," she chirped, "It's his first day at the firm and oh! We're also meeting the Johnsons for lunch…"

"I'll have him back before you know it," Spy assured her as he led Scout down the street.

"Are you goin' to try an' force me to go back with you too?" Scout asked as they stopped at the bus station on the street corner, "Because my mind's made up. I ain't goin' back there, I ain't goin' anywhere."

"You realize you're in no position to make these demands, right, Scout?" Spy held up his hand to silence Scout from correcting him that his name was Hogarth, "You either come back with us, or we kill you. Company policy."

"That's against the law," Scout protested, "The authorities will get you one way or another."

"Oh all the asinine things- Scout, do you really think that the law can reach us under the Administrator's wing? They're flies against her."

Scout would have gotten mad by now, Spy noted. Instead, a jubilant smile lurked at the corners of his mouth, as if he thought Spy was joking. It unnerved him.

"What did Dell say?" Scout suddenly asked.

"We're still convincing him while we stay with him."

"And when's his time up?"

"When we find Demoman."

"Where is he? What happened to him?"

"We don't know yet."

Scout thought for a moment, looked back down the street where Joanna and his teammates stood, and waved to her.

"I'll tell ya what; I'll think about it. Can't just up an' leave with ya this second, I'm supposed to become a husband soon…"

"I understand. Just don't put it off, or you'll only hurt her more. Believe me," Spy pat the young man on the shoulder and lead him back up the street to his house. "She _is_ quite beautiful."

When they returned to the driveway, Joanna had disappeared back into the house.

"Have ya changed your mind yet, private?" Soldier asked while Pyro busied theirself with the shiny rear-view mirror, reflecting the sun in every which way.

"You'll get my answer when ya find Demoman, big guy. Don't worry." Scout said.

Soldier didn't look too pleased with the answer, but any objection he might have shared was cut off when Joanna returned with a tray of lemonade.

"Now if you fellas will excuse me, I've got a job ta get to," Scout said, mocking a salute and getting into his car. Pyro made a sound akin to a whimper as their entertainment slid out of their grasp. Joanna waved to Scout as he sped down the street to the town center.

"It's a bit of a scorcher out, isn't it?" Joanna asked, "I figured you'd all like a drink for your troubles…"

The three mercenaries each accepted a glass. The lemonade was impossibly sweet and cold.

"Madam, I don't mean to intrude, but how long have you and Hogarth been together?" Spy asked. The condensation on the glass wet his gloved fingertips.

"About two days," the woman answered without skipping a beat.

"Two days?" Spy and Soldier asked in unison.

"Don't you think that's a little fast?" Spy recovered.

"Maybe, but I don't mind," Joanna offered the tray to Soldier as he downed the rest of his drink, "Besides, it was the mayor who suggested we be together. He has only our best interests in mind!"

"Interesting," Spy said before noticing Pyro, "Pyro, what on earth are you doing?"

Pyro looked up, caught red-handed where they crouched pouring their lemonade on an unfortunate snail. Ashamed, Pyro hurriedly returned the empty glass.

"We're sorry about him. He's not exactly all the way here," Spy said to Joanna who merely chuckled.

"No harm done! I've been having trouble with those silly little snails all season. They're ruining my peas!" she said.

"You should let Spy have a go at them," Soldier snickered, "Frenchies love snails, don't ya know?"

"They do?" Joanna asked. Spy wasn't sure if she was just humoring Soldier or if it was really news to her.

"I don't care for escargot," Spy said, finishing his own glass of lemonade and giving it to Joanna.

"I'm sure it tastes just fine, though," Joanna nodded, "Say, are any of you boys interested in moving into the neighborhood?"

"Negatory. We're here strictly on business," Soldier said, Spy shot him a look and he fumbled out a quick "Sorry, ma'am."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Joanna assured them with a wink, "But in case any of you do change your mind, the Creekfield Women's Association can get you one of the nices homes around. Just mention that I sent you."

"Will do. Come, gentlemen," Spy turned to leave and signaled for Soldier and Pyro to follow.

"So what'd you tell Scout?" Soldier asked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Joanna had gone inside before he spoke.

"I told him he could either come with us or die by our hands. He has until we find Demoman to decide and end it with Joanna."

"Kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"I didn't expect to hear that coming from you."

Soldier shrugged.

"Love can be a powerful force in a young man's life… Don't ask me how I know that."

"I wasn't planning on it," Spy said. He could entertain himself with the Soldier's life story later. For now, he had plans to make.


	4. 3: Somewhat Meaningful Title

8:00 PM  
CREEKFIELD, NEW MEXICO

Heavy Weapons Guy had yet to return to Engineer's house. Granted Sniper had slunk in at seven; an hour later than their group's agreed return time, but unlike the Australian who had retired to bed as soon as Medic saw his face, it was not like Heavy to arrive late. And over two hours, at that.

Plastic dice clattered across cardboard as Pyro took their turn with the boardgame Soldier unearthed from Engineer's closet.

"What time's Heavy getting home?" Engineer called from the kitchen where the hiss of hot water matched the ghost of steam in the yellow light. He was cleaning the dinner dishes.

"He should've been home two hours ago," Soldier called back before turning to move his little green gingerbread man through the area on the board titled "Molasses Swamp".

Engineer stuck his head out of the doorway.

"He couldn't have gotten lost, could he?" the Texan asked.

"It is possible," Medic said, massaging his temples. Heavy was by no means as stupid as he looked, but the Medic had begrudgingly adopted the mindset of a painstakingly vigilant worry wart some time during his years in the war. Respawn misplaced this, respawn did that… doctor, doctor, doctor.

"I… I could call the authorities!" Engineer offered, "They could send out a search unit and help him home within the hour!"

"Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill," Soldier interjected, "Heavy's no moron, he's just… slow. Literally. He's probably on his way back right now."

The door opened and closed, drawing everyone's eager attention. However, instead of Heavy, it was Spy who stood by the door, cigarette absent from his lips as Engineer had requested earlier at dinner.

"Where were you?" Engineer asked, "Didn't even know ya left…"

"I stepped out for a smoke," Spy's response was terse. After Engineer disappeared back into the kitchen, Medic followed Spy to the couch and sat down with him.

"Where were you really?" he whispered over his shoulder so as not to rouse Soldier or Pyro's attention as they played their game.

"At Scout's. Intercepting correspondence," Spy's tone remained clipped, but at least he was yielding information.

"You were going through his mail?"

"I had to see what he was writing to his mother, that is, if he was writing to her at all."

"I forgot he does that," Medic relaxed into the couch, tossing one leg over the other, "What were you expecting him to write about?"

"At the moment, I cannot afford to expect anything," Spy produced an envelope from his coat pocket, "Do you mind?"

"Nein, go ahead," Spy used his balisong to slit open the envelope in a flash of silver and began to read the letter. Curiosity got the best of Medic and he began to read over the saboteur's shoulder. It seemed to be an ordinary letter, mainly detailing how he found a more domestic job at a law firm and how he had met the love of his life. But like Spy had said, at the moment he could not expect anything. It was not until the end of the letter did the Scout's writing become suspect.

Within the details about their wedding, which was slated to occur on the same day as the town's anniversary picnic in just three days, Scout had taken extra care in mentioning that because it was the town's anniversary, only citizens of Creekfield were invited. Visitors were not even allowed within town limits on that day.

Medic wondered what this development for his team, or what remained of it.

"He seems to be cutting off contact with her," Spy concluded, folding the letter back up before Medic could finish it, "Either that, or he's strongly insinuating that she move in before then. Both are plausible enough."

"And the anniversary picnic?" Medic asked, "We are still guests here, after all. It seems like in three days, we will have overstayed out welcome."

"It does complicate things," Spy said, "We're going to need to move faster if we want to make it back to Doublecross by our new deadline."

"So what's the initiative, then?" came a third voice.

Medic and Spy turned their heads to see Soldier and Pyro had been listening in on them for some time. Candyland sat untouched, the journey to Candy Castle on hold.

"We retire for the night," Soy decided, "I will call Madame Pauling in the morning to report our findings and she will assist in deciding our next move."

"And we drag our men back to Doublecross by their ears if we have to!" Soldier made an example by grabbing his own ears and tugging on them. Pyro found the act amusing and clapped.

"If it comes to that, oui." the Frenchman allowed a yawn to escape his lungs.

* * *

7:05 AM  
PYROVISION

Pyro's bleary eyes opened expecting a baby blue sky, and blinked shut again when her vision was greeted by a beige, lifeless ceiling instead. Sand-colored and barren like an upside-down desert.

Pyro knew Soldier would be in soon to call everyone down for breakfast. He was looking forward to the meal if only because the smell of the stove would soon reach his nose and carry word from Pyroland along with it. His connection to Pyroland was weakening by the day.

So long as Pyro's friends were here in Creekfield, her rainblower would be off limits. So long as her rainblower was off limits, no rainbow road.

No rainbow road, no Pyroland.

Pyro wanted to behave. He wanted to be good so Engineer and Scout would come home and he could return to Pyroland once more, but it was getting hard to play Goody McDummyshoes.

It seemed as if this Creekfield was fireproof, which didn't help matters at all. All of the inhabitants were like nothing Pyro had ever seen. There was something timeless about them that seemed so immune to the fantastic chaos of life that she embraced like a cherub. Pyro's cherub. Didn't they know that chaos was the pilot light to the magnificent fiery portal that led to Pyroland?

Pyro's thoughts were interrupted by rap-rapping on the door. It was probably Soldier. Pyro was quick to don his safety suit and mask so he could answer the door.

Sure enough, Soldier was waiting in the hall, soldier-y as ever.

"Morning, private!" he greeted with a salute. Pyro wished he wouldn't talk so loud.

"Good morning," She responded. She could smell breakfast now and with it, a faint and sweet whisper from the meadows of Pyroland.

'_Beware!'_ a small voice implored. The single message sent a buzz down his spine as if Queen Bumblybee was hosting a gala in his bones. Beware of what?

Pyro followed Soldier out of the garage and into Engineer's house. The smell of cooking was stronger now and with it, laughter and song as if Pyro's beloved kingdom was just out of sight. A specter in the corner of her eye.

Pyro saw his friends slowly emerging from every corner of the house, tired and hungry just like him. The only one who wasn't a sleepy-head right now was Engineer.

Pyro swallowed.

As he had for the past few days they had been staying with him in Creekfield, Engineer looked less… well, like Engineer.

He looked newer, handsomer, and by all means better, but Pyro couldn't help but fear him now.

Her favorite playmate in the world had become as strange and plastic as that Joanna lady.

"Good mornin', fellas! Did ya hear the news?" Engineer turned to greet his friends as they took their seats. Pyro avoided eye contact, hiding behind his mask's smoky lenses.

"Non," Spy led a chorus of negatory confirmations. Engineer chuckled.

"It seems we've got ourselves a new neighbor!" Engineer happily announced, "It's our ol' friend Tavish!"

Medic choked on his pancakes while the rest of the team sputtered in disbelief.

"What?!"

'Beware…' the herald of Pyroland urged once more from the sizzling sausages on Pyro's plate. She felt as if her heart had been weighed down by a cold, unfeeling brick.


	5. 4: Butts lol

7:18 AM  
CREEKFIELD, NEW MEXICO

Soldier wasted no time in storming out of the house. This was getting preposterous.

First Engineer and Scout abandon ship to go live a neutered life in the middle of nowhere, then Demoman and Heavy go missing in the same ritzy little dustbowl, and now Demoman's back, moving in like he's got nothing better to do.

Soldier could feel his blood boil then cool when he spotted his oblivious quarry.

Across the street and two doors down, Demoman was walking to a nice, black car wearing a nice black police officer's uniform like he had been there and doing that for years. A furious smile split Soldier's face as he watched his former teammate take his sweet, sweet time in unlocking the driver side door. He almost didn't notice that Demoman's eye patch was gone, as if his missing eye had been there all along. Soldier didn't really care about that right now.

"Demoman! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted. Some of the neighbors' wives looked up from hedge-clipping in perfect unison, but ducked back down under Soldier's sweeping gaze.

"Startin' a new job on the force!" Demoman shouted back, smiling wide, "And it's Tavish now, mate!"

"Tavish my ass, you coward!" Soldier spat as he stepped onto the driveway, "We're on a mission, not retirement! Now get your ass back to Engie's!"

"_Yer_ on a mission," Demoman corrected, "I quit, Solly. I'm done fightin'. My resignation's in the mail."

Soldier snorted and walked over to the mailbox in question.

"What're ya doin'?" Demoman asked, though he didn't try to stop the American, which was odd.

Soldier said nothing until he had rifled through the newly painted mailbox and retrieved the letter.

"Welcome back to the team," Soldier said as he ripped the envelope in two, then four and sprinkled it onto the sidewalk.

"That's litterin'," Demoman stated, but still smiled as if Soldier had done him a favor. The RED grimaced.

This wasn't like Demoman. The real one would have been wailing on him for fucking with his letter, but this one, this tame duplicate did nothing.

"Then arrest me, officer," Soldier welcomed the Scotsman with open, mocking arms. If Demoman wouldn't come to his senses, Soldier would just have to knock them into him.

"I s'ppose I should write ye a tick-" Demoman drew the small, yellow pad of paper only to come face to fist with a charging Soldier.

The car alarm whined as Demoman slid down the side of the vehicle, his left eye blackening. Then, just as Soldier was about to make sure he didn't knock his friend into next year, some over reactive defense instinct triggered deep inside the Scotsman's mind and he struck back.

Soldier was about to laugh as he and Demoman tumbled around the driveway, tossing animalistic blows just like the old days until he got a brief pause to really look at the other mercenary's face. It was a grinning mockery of the old Demoman. One eye swollen shut, but it was the wrong one. One eye open and staring as if in a drunkenly jubilant stupor, but it was the wrong one. Wrong clothes, wrong smile, wrong man, same man.

The car had attracted a small party of onlookers including Engineer and the team, watching the two men fight it out. Could they see what Soldier saw? Could they see this chipper (and probably 100% sober) clone that had stolen the old Demoman when their backs were turned? Or was Soldier whipping his peace-loving ass too fast?

Engineer watched with a dumbfounded look on his face as if he had never seen the two fight before, but made no move to stop either of them. Medic and Spy looked on with disapproval while Sniper looked like he wanted to join in. Pyro…

…

Where was Pyro?

Soldier's question was soon answered when he felt a weight shove him off of Demoman. He didn't even see the little firebug sneak up on him!

"C'mon, Pyro, let me have at-" Soldier thought Pyro was trying to come between his and Demoman's fight. However, he thought wrong. Horribly wrong.

Pyro had taken Soldier's place straddling Demoman and was now choking him, screaming wild, muffled screams.

"You don't gotta _kill_ him, Pyro! He's not a BLU!" Soldier yelled. However, Pyro wasn't listening.

With a shaky, gloved hand, Pyro drove their index finger into Demoman's new eye with a sickening squelch.

Demoman choked out a scream as Pyro slowly dragged out the bloody remnants of his eye. Soldier felt pity for his teammate melt his frozen shock.

"Pyro, PYRO! You stop that right now, son!" Soldier stumbled to his feet and tried to pry Pyro off of Demoman.

The barking of dogs became apparent as paws clicked across asphalt and concrete.

"_This is the Creekfield police! Dismount than man immediately!"_ a static voice crackled as a handful of policemen arrived on the scene, their canine companions forming a circle around Soldier, Pyro and Demoman.

Pyro was quick to jump off of the incapacitated man, backing against Soldier's chest. Soldier moved the shorter mercenary to the side and tried to step out of the circle of growling dogs. One of them, a Doberman, snapped at him and he stepped back.

A black Dodge Dart pulled up to the sidewalk that very moment, a familiar face stepping out. It was the mayor, concern darkening his great, pink face.

"What on God's green earth is going on here?" he asked.

"Assault sir. Miss Roberts called in scared out of her darn mind 'cause these ruffians were beating on her new neighbor!" one of the police officers reported, his megaphone held like a gun.

Mayor Campbell's eyebrows knitted together as he looked from Demoman who was being helped to his feet by Medic and a police officer to Soldier, whom Pyro hid behind as if to say _"You two?"_

"Sorry… sir," Soldier grumbled. It hadn't gotten out of hand until Pyro had joined the fray, but Pyro was a natural guerilla. It was almost all it could do. It couldn't even read, let alone be held accountable for its actions. "I started this."

"And it looks like your friend there did a doozy of a job finishing it!" Campbell reprimanded, "I thought you said you wouldn't go about causing trouble like this. I _trusted_ you men."

"Again, sorry, sir."

The good mayor placed his hands on his hips and sighed, no longer looking at Soldier, "You know my boys here are going to have to take you in. I'm not gonna stop 'em."

"I'm aware of that. Sir."

Mayor Campbell smiled.

"Perhaps there's hope for you two yet, though. Come along," the old man gestured for Soldier to get into one of the patrol vehicles that sat across the street, hidden from the action and followed by a silent Pyro.

"Mr. Mayor, what are we going to do about Mr. Degroot?" an officer asked, sidling up to the older man.

"Tavish?" the mayor asked, noticing the semiconscious man slumped against his own car being fussed over by Medic, "Just load him in my car; I'll take care of him."

"Your car?" Medic asked, having overheard the mayor, "He needs medical treatment. You must call an ambulance!"

"Nonsense, my good friend. Here in Creekfield, we don't need ambulances or hospitals or any of that gobbledygook. I can take care of him," Campbell tried to relieve Medic of Demoman's body, but the German kept a careful grip on the Scotsman.

"You cannot be serious," Medic laughed, but one look at the mayor told him otherwise. His face fell slack with disbelief, "But you are…"

"You'll find that things work a bit differently out here," Campbell sighed, easing Demoman out of Medic's hands and picking him up bridal-style. The Scotsman's weight didn't seem to be a burden for the far older man. "Now I'm sorry to cut our chat short, but I've got a wounded man to treat."

* * *

7:52 AM

"Well now what? What the hell are we gonna do now?!"

Nobody would look Sniper in the eye. Nobody had an answer for him. Not yet, at least.

"Well?" Sniper asked. The crowd had since dispersed, leaving Sniper, Medic, Spy and Engineer standing around on the driveway.

"What do you want to do?" Medic asked sardonically.

:How about goin' over and bustin' Soldier and Pyro out of jail? How about finding out what the fuck happened to Demoman? How about finding out just what the bloody hell is going on in this place?!"

"How about I call Madame Pauling before you try to do anything stupid?" Spy bit, cutting Sniper's tirade off.

The Australian stared at him, his scowl digging deep into his face.

"Then what's stoppin' you? Go call her," he said quietly.

"Gladly," Spy stood up from his place on Demoman's front steps and stalked off, leaving three silent men in his wake.

Medic sighed and turned away from the others, hands clasped behind his back. There was ice to be broken, but nobody knew how to break it. Clearly, they had come into this mission overconfident and underinformed.

Finally, enlightenment struck.

"Engineer," Medic started.

"I keep tellin' ya to jus' call me Dell, Doc," Engineer interrupted good-naturedly.

"Ja. You also keep trying to convince me that I have a promising career waiting for me at the Creekfield dentistry. Anyways, I was wondering why you have been so quiet lately. Surely this has been as exhausting an ordeal for you as it has been for us…"

"I'm jus' glad to see so many of you fellas makin' the right decision to move into town with me. I sure would 'a missed ya if ya'll decided to stay in that terrible war…"

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Sniper asked incredulously, "'Sides Tavish an' Scout, nobody else on the team would dare move here!"

"You sure about that?" Engineer's warm, trademark smile seemed pasted to his face by this point, "Dimitri's started his own pet store an-"

"Dimitri? You do not mean our Heavy, do you?" Medic was hoping it was just coincidence that this mysterious new pet shop owner and his large, Russian comrade shared the same name. Where would En- Dell have even heard it? Heavy told Medic he was the only one on the team that knew his real name.

"Sure as sugar! Who else would I mean?" Dell laughed, unaware that Medic's entire body had gone rigid with a fierce natural instinct to reassemble his team.

"I must go," Medic stormed past Engineer and Sniper in the direction of the town center. He would get to the bottom of this if it cost him what little of his questionable sanity he had left.

"Medic, wait! You're daft if you think it's a good idea to split up even more," Sniper said, reaching out to catch Medic's shoulder. The German shrugged his hand off with a grimace.

"It is my duty to oversee the health and wellbeing of my teammates. Right now, they are ill with a sickness I cannot place. I will treat them, nonetheless." Medic's expression was set, his will obvious.

"You're bein' foolish and you know it," Sniper looked him in the eye.

"Of course. This place is a madhouse. Perhaps I must play into the fantasy to discover the cure."

Sniper released Medic with a wary eye, and Medic turned to resume his path, coat fluttering with a melodramatic air.

"Will you be home in time for lunch?" Engineer called.

Medic paid the question no mind, continuing on.

"Bloody loon…" Sniper muttered, kicking a rock and sending it skittering across the road where it lay incongruous with the black asphalt.

Engineer hummed thoughtfully and stuck his hands in his jean pockets.

"You know, garage is closed today. Don't got any work unless someone phones in a 'mergency," the Texan tried for smalltalk.

"Must be nice to have such a normal job," Sniper played along, disinterested. "'Remember the hours were your least favorite thing 'bout the battles. Wasn't a job but wasn't much of a war either. Aren't religious but ya sure do hate fightin' on Sundays."

"I jus' don't like killin' people. It ain't the peaceful thing t'do," Engineer sighed, though his disposition remained impossibly content.

"Hn. How _would_ y'solve a great big, bloody mess like a war, then?" Sniper asked with a raised brow. Engineer may not have been the most trigger-happy on the team, but he didn't mind watching one of his sentries chew down the BLU team. He wouldn't even blink before blowing a Scout's knees out with a well-placed shotgun shell. Demoman really was right. This wasn't the Engineer he knew.

"Talk to the other side. Use persuasion an' get 'em to think jus' like me. It's the Creekfield thing t'do," Engineer turned to admire the horizon of two-story, manicured houses with a proud twinkle in his eyes as if he had built the town himself. "It's impossible to _not _feel that way after jus' one day of livin' here…"

"Can't say I agree with ya there, mate," Sniper looked across the same line of homes, but didn't feel the pride Engineer did.

When he looked back, Engineer was gone.

"Engie?" he called, but his voice disappeared into the air like a specter, unanswered. He had looked away for literally seconds.

"C'mon, ya bleedin' dingus. I ain't in the mood to play games," Sniper growled, scanning the street for signs of the Texan.

A familiar shiver ran down his spine, zapping a scar he had received several times over in his line of work. The sensation sent his mind back in the heat of battle. The early noon sun permeated the four dilapidated walls of his roost as his mind's eye led him in pursuit of his pursuer: a Spy masquerading as the Engineer. He was dimly aware that he had entered Demoman's new home, the door having been left unlocked. It didn't matter to him.

Swiftly, he walked through clean, sunlit halls so unbefitting to their owner that Sniper could only perceive them as dank, lonely hallways in the complex attic of some base that his mind had formed out off all the ones he had fought at. He didn't stop to acknowledge that his mind was spinning delusions around him, only that he had prey that thought it could hunt him.

There was no time to rationalize any reason the impostor Engineer would have run from him into the home in the first place, or realize that the kitchen he had just walked into lacked a liquor cabinet.

There was a shuffle of feet upstairs, and Sniper smiled. He crept through the doorway and up the stairs. When he reached the top, another flutter of footsteps revealed Engineer's location: the bedroom.

Sniper slowly crept down the hall and slid beside the doorway, quieting his breath. Then he opened the door with his foot and swiftly entered the room.

It was empty.

A modest earth-colored bed sat in the center of the spacious room, personal effects like a pair of reading glasses and a copy of Macbeth (a story Sniper knew Demoman had read hundreds of times) laying on the night stand. To the side, a door to a stylish, monochrome bathroom opened slightly without a sound. The window was closed.

'_There you are,'_ Sniper thought, walking across the room with a smile. Without warning, a pair of hands shoved Sniper into the bathroom door as soon as he reached it. He was sent tumbling face-first into the sink.

Whirling around in a red fury, clutching his bleeding nose, Sniper lashed out at his attacker. He didn't need to see who it was to know it wasn't Engineer. The hands that had shoved him were too small, too delicate.

The marksman succeeded in knocking his assailant on her ass with a well-placed boot. It was an older woman, probably about a decade above him. Even in pain, holding onto a slender arm as she stood up, she was beautiful.

Sniper didn't see her as such anymore when she swung a red-heeled foot right into his crotch. He winced audibly and crumbled on the bathroom floor, grabbing onto his jeans, his hands effectively occupied before they were wrenched behind his back.

"Sorry for troublin' ya, Miss Roberts," Engineer said as he straddled Sniper, "This'll be all wrapped up in jus' a sec if ya don't mind standin' by…"

"Oh, it's fine, Mr. Conagher. A friend in need is a friend indeed!" Miss Roberts chorused, brushing a lock of curly blonde hair over her pale shoulder.

From out of his jeans pocket, Engineer produced a small syringe. The click it made when he uncapped it sent a whole new wave of struggles through Sniper.

"Let me go, you bloody bastard!" the Australian yelled, trying to buck Engineer off his back. He felt a jab in the base of his skull and instinctually put all his strength into flipping over, slamming Engineer into the sink and snapping the needle. The syringe clattered across the tiled floor as Sniper clambered up and into the bathtub on all fours like a wounded animal. His nose stung, his balls were sore and blood beaded around the protruding needle in his neck before slipping down in a thin, red line.

Engineer looked far better, only holding his aching neck as he searched for the syringe which had come to a stop behind the toilet. Sniper could see Miss Roberts' shadow stretch across the floor with the growing light of the approaching afternoon.

"Why- Why are you doing this, Engie? We're mates," the sharpshooter tried to reason, "You're supposed t'be doin' this shit to the _other_ Sniper."

"Hopefully, his time will come. And with less of a struggle, too," Engineer assured him as he continued his search for the broken syringe.

Miss Roberts entered the room with an inquisitive pout and opened the medicine shelf behind the bathroom mirror, rummaging through it like it was her own.

"Dell," she said sweetly, tapping the short man on the shoulder, "Why don't you just use these?"

Engineer gave up his search for the syringe and accepted the little plastic bottle of sleeping pills from Demoman's neighbor.

"Much obliged, Sue," he nodded as he began to approach Sniper who slumped in the bathtub, fatigued.

With no second thought and the last of his energy, Sniper struck out and kicked Engineer in the face, propelling himself out of the tub and onto the floor. Ungainly in his confusion, Sniper flopped around the doorway and into the bedroom, grabbing a fistful of Miss Roberts' dress for leverage in the process.

"Pervert!" she screeched as she yanked her garment out of his grasp and kicked him across the shiny wooden floor.

Sniper winced again as her heel dug into his side, bending his rib cage. His exit was eclipsed by Engineer who had the regretful look of a young man about to put down a rabid dog.

"Please hold still, pardner. You've been through an awful lot already," the Texan whispered as he took Sniper in a firm grip and situated him against the side of the bed.

"Thanks to you, traitorous son of a bitch…" Sniper muttered, regretting his words as Engineer grabbed his jaw and held it open. A round of clicks echoed through the room as Engineer emptied a generous amount of pills into his hand.

"Let's pray this won't kill ya before we can get ya over to the mayor's," Engineer said, holding the handful of medicine at Sniper's lips, "Bottoms up!"

* * *

8:20 AM

The little bell above the door jingled as someone entered the pet shop on McCarthy Street.

"Hello? Heavy?" Medic asked as he walked past cages of sleeping canaries and docile goldfish. There seemed to be every sort of pet under the sun lining the shelves of the store. Every sort of pet except cats…

"Dmitri?" He tried again.

The store seemed devoid of human life, and eerily quiet despite the abundance of perfectly healthy animals just waiting to be taken home. A faint trail of "Waltz of the Flowers" echoed from the back room, the grace of the music almost tangible in the light of the morning.

'_Perhaps he fell asleep in the back room, the idiot,'_ Medic thought with pursed lips as he progressed through the store.

A sudden bark caught him completely off guard. Apparently there was one animal that was awake in the room. It was a Labrador pup with a milky, white-yellow coat.

"Well hello there," Medic cooed, stooping to pet the puppy. Its tail wagged enthusiastically as it allowed the strange man to run his even stranger hands along its back.

"Ana!" a familiar voice boomed from the back room. The puppy leaped up and padded into the room through a little dog-door with a yip.

Medic followed her, sighing. Of course Heavy would have a soft spot for animals.

He tried the doorknob only to find it wouldn't budge. Locked. Medic sighed again, this time in exasperation as he got on his knees and pushed up the red plastic flap of the dog door, looking into the back room with curious eyes.

The room was dimly lit, but warm with life. The fearsome Heavy that Medic knew was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead with a gentle giant rubbing his nose against his puppy's. It was a very stark contrast to what Medic was used to.

Medic let the flap fall again and jerked to his feet when he heard a chair scrape across the floor.

"Who is there?" Heavy grumbled from the other side of the door.

Medic cleared his throat and knocked.

"I am wondering about how much the little Labrador I just saw was," Medic lied. He heard footsteps thump across the floor before the door opened. There Heavy stood in casual clothes, an apron secured around his front. Ana was under his left arm, tiny against the Russian's muscles yet perfectly comfortable.

"I am sorry but you are mistaken. Ana is _my _dog. She is not for sale," Heavy clarified kindly, "Could I interest you in any of the other dogs?"

Medic raised a brow. Did Heavy not recognize him?

"Heavy," he began with a pause, "You do know who I am, ja?"

"You are man who is not buying Ana from me," Heavy laughed, seemingly ignorant of his friendship with the shorter, slimmer mercenary in front of him.

"We worked together, Heavy. We should still be working together," Medic said, massaging his temples, "What do you think you are doing here? We have a war to fight. Do you_ want_ the BLU team to win?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," more ignorance, "But if you do not want to buy pet, I will have to ask you to leave…"

Medic's lips formed a thin, tight line.

"Fine. Good day, Dmitri," Medic turned to leave.

"Good day, Doctor."

Medic stopped mid-turn and spun back around.

"What did you say?" Medic asked hopefully.

"I said good day, Doctor," Heavy said, "You are doctor, da? Red cross on your arm is sign of doctor."

Medic looked at his sleeve, his frown returning. "Oh."

The bell jingled once more as Medic opened the door and slammed it shut behind him, awaking the birds by the window in a chirping panic.

The sun peeked over the tops of buildings, gazing down Medic's neck as he walked down the street, dejected and infuriated. It was a strange mix, fighting over the tension in his aging bones and warping the smog in his thoughts. It made him upset that his closest friend didn't recognize him, and mad that this same friend had chosen a town and a pup over him. The sun rotted these feelings in its muggy embrace.

He'd have to tell Spy and Sniper they'd lost yet another man to the madness of this town. They hadn't just failed to recover two alleged deserters; two more deserted in the time they had been here, as well as the two they had lost to the authorities. Medic wondered how Soldier and Pyro were faring in the town jail. He began to wonder if the town even had a jail, considering its citizens were apparently too perfect for a hospital.

Medic stood still in his tracks.

What if they had let whatever unknown force that was lurking within the town limits claim two more of their men from right under their noses? It all made perfect sense, after all; kidnap Engineer and Scout, brainwash them into staying and carrying out some domestic duty they were needed for, then similarly assimilating anyone that comes after them if they start trying to uncover the truth!

A shiver clutched Medic's spine and shook him silly with paranoia. He was one of the people who needed to be assimilated. Spy and Sniper, too. He had to warn them! They had to leave _now_-

"Doctor!"

Medic screamed as a large hand came down on his shoulder. He wheeled around so fast he stumbled over his own heels and fell on his rump.

Heavy stared down at him with the look of a child that had just knocked over one of his mother's vases.

"Sorry," he said dumbly, offering a hand to help Medic up.

"It is fine. What do you want?" Medic asked, politely refusing the hand. He also noticed that Ana was not with Heavy. Must be back at the pet store.

"Doctor, guess what? I remember you now!" Heavy was positively thrilled about his enlightenment.

"You do?"

"Da, I do. And you have been calling me Heavy because I am Heavy Weapons Guy!"

"Ja," Medic smiled, "You are!"

"Now, Doctor, you must come! I must show you thing I found out about this place!"

"Is that why you were not home last night?"

"Are catching on now. Smart man. Da, now come. I will show you discovery."

"Alright, but we must return to Engineer's home as soon as possible. I made my own discovery and it's imperative I share it with the others! Soldier and Pyro's lives as they know it could depend on it!" Medic said as he allowed Heavy to lead him back to his store, feeling secure in the enormous shadow that had protected him through so many battles. How could he ever think Heavy would betray him?

* * *

8:05 AM  
EARLIER

Engineer's front door slammed open. Spy had no capacity for unnecessary stealth at the moment.

"Where is it…" he muttered to himself as he searched the living room for a phone. He could swear Engineer had one.

"On the kitchen counter, hoss."

"Merci," Spy said as he hurried into the kitchen. He then stopped in the doorway when the owner of the voice registered in his mind. He looked at Engineer, who stood in the doorway, blocking most of the light. "Where is Sniper?"

"Said he wanted to check with the mayor about somethin'," Engineer shrugged, "Maybe he was eyein' a house 'round here.."

"…Is that all you ever think about?" Spy asked, "Petty real estate and cooking meals? Hmph, it is like you've been neutered."

"You don't mean that," Engineer chuckled as Spy picked up the phone. "We're pals."

"You never considered us that before," Spy said as he dialed. When he held the receiver to his ear, however, there was no ring. Only a dead tone.

"You know the phone line's exclusively local…" Engineer said, joining Spy in the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water from the tap, "You can't call anyone outside 'a town. It's against the law t'even try."

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?" Spy hissed, returning the receiver to the cradle with restrained anger. He could feel the muscles in his forearm tighten and knot up, twitching for the gun secured under his arm in its holster.

"Didn't think it would be a problem," Engineer shrugged, "But you fellas've continually proven to be a threat to the community. You can't let vermin know they're in a trap until the cage comes down. They'll jus' escape and spread more disease…."

Spy was silent as the gears in his mind ran a mile a minute.

"A lot to process, I know," the brainwashed Texan grinned emptily, "But it'll sink in eventually. Jus' don't worry yer handsome lil' head. Movin' into Creekfield will be the best decision of your life, hoss."


	6. 5: Potato Knishes

7:00 PM  
CREEKFIELD

From the single holding cell at the Creekfield police department, a ballad of off-key harmonica notes pushed the tolerance of any poor soul within hearing range to their furthermost limits.

Behind the steel bars sat the Soldier, playing the offending instrument in a melodramatically depressed state; jacket tied around his waist, boots untied and dog tags wrapped around his wrist.

Beside him sat Pyro, who sobbed silently, whether it be from the shame of imprisonment of the pain of sharing a cell with a man who was easily the worst harmonica player in existence.

It was as pathetic a scene as it was comical.

The ceiling fan went round and round as a door slammed shut from somewhere in the building. The sound of approaching footsteps and jingling keys drew Soldier out of his intense improvisation.

"Dinner time," the deputy, who had introduced himself as Thompson said, holding a single plastic tray with a crustless ham sandwich and a glass of water on it.

Solder set the harmonica down. "'Bout time."

"No funny business or I'm gonna have to set the canine unit on you again," Thompson said as he unlocked the cell door. Soldier grumbled and tried to hide his bandaged forearm.

"Where's Pyro's?" Soldier asked as the deputy handed him the tray. "Boy's probably starving to death by now. Hell, he might even try to eat me in my sleep!"

"Pyro?" Thomson looked at the suited firebug sitting on the other end of the hard bench. "Oh, him. I'm releasing him now."

"Really?!" "Rrrry?!" Soldier and Pyro both stood up in surprised unison, the former's lunch clattering onto the ground. Deputy Thompson sighed and smiled.

"Yes, really. We have enough evidence, but according to it, only one of you can be held accountable, and that's you, Mr. Doe."

"So basically I'm getting blamed for the actions of the two of us," Soldier fell back onto his seat, arms crossed.

"You said so yourself. You're friend here's ill in the head. They can't be held to the due process of a law they don't understand, it's just sad!"

"Are you underestimating my teammate?" Soldier asked.

"Do you want him.. er.. them to get charged too?"

Pyro shot Soldier a look.

"No, just let it go," Soldier grumbled and waved his hand. He then leaned into where Pyro's ear should be, "You better come to my trial and give me a hand, private."

Pyro sniffled and saluted him.

"Alright, little guy. Let's get you outta here," Deputy Thompson clapped a hand on Pyro's shoulder and led him out of the cell. Pyro cast Soldier a passing glance as they were led away.

The deputy's cordiality only extended as far as the wooden double doors, however. As soon as Pyro crossed the threshold, the doors pulled shut and the firebug was on their own.

* * *

7: 25 PM  
PYROVISION

The evening was beginning to stretch over the blue sky, tinting it with cotton candy pink. Pyro tried to place the location of the sun, hoping to catch a glimpse of Pyroland in the powerful light of the star. No such luck; it had already sunk below the towering reaches of a cozy retirement village.

It was scary to be out in Creekfield alone, vulnerable to the strange plastic residents. Pyro was curious as to how Soldier was doing back at the cell. It would have been fun to spend the night together, though Soldier didn't seem to be the type to partake in slumber party shenanigans, but alas.

Were they going to tickle all of his deepest, darkest secrets out of him? The thought of tickle torture frightened Pyro. There was no more beastly a method of interrogation than tickling! Pyro hoped he would be allowed to visit Soldier and teach him all of Pyro's secret tactics for resisting the terrible tickles.

The sidewalk seemed to stretch on into infinity, the closed storefronts repeating themselves as Pyro absentmindedly walked by. It took her a while to realize she had been walking around the same block in a circle. The repetition was just so nice, almost like the comfortable routine of commuting to Pyroland to spread joy and laughter to its inhabitants. That's probably what all these doll people needed; joy, laughter and a little fire.

After the carousel of commodities ran its course, he crossed over to the next block. A tall, red building lined with individual doorsteps occupied most of the lot. Finding no entertainment in the drab pile of bricks, Pyro continued past the complex and cast a curious glance into the alley beside it. It was shady, sheltered from the sinking sun that painted the sidewalk a deep orange. The perfect place to rest his tiring legs.

Finches twittered overhead as Pyro sat somewhat comfortably against the wall. There was a faint smell of raw meat in the air that made her oddly hungry. Apparently she wasn't the only one that yearned for the source of the scent. Waiting in front of a back door was a Rottweiler with a wagging tail. There sure were a lot of dogs around here…

The dog whined as it waited for whoever was on the other side door. Pyro scowled; how annoying. After the dog's pathetic attempts to will open the door with high-pitched calls ended, the door opened. However, instead of bounding in like the big, dumb animal it was, the Rottweiler sat down, tail still thumping on the doorstep.

"What're you making such a fuss about, girl?" came a gruff voice. The question was followed by a large, bald head and a white apron displaying the name "Clyde" in red cursive letters. Behind the apron and below the bald head stood a great grizzly bear, shaved pink and frothing at the mouth with rabid kindness. Pyro's heart skipped several frightened beats.

"Oh!" the bear roared, "Hello there, fella. Didn't see you there…"

It took Pyro a while to realize that the fearsome creature was talking to him. With a shaky index finger, she pointed at herself.

"Me?" Pyro asked.

"Well, who else would I be talking to?" the bear-man was laughing now, really cracking the hell up and spewing foamy saliva all over. The bear's dog, which had now taken a distorted crouching form not unlike a toad's seemed to bark along with her master's mirth, a rubbery smile baring yellow fangs. "What're you doing back here? Wanna see what the back of my little ol' store looks like? I could even fix you a sandwich on the house!"

Pyro's head shook violently. No no _no way_.

"Aw, come on. It'll only take a few seconds, I promise! I'll even let ya pet Mary…" the werebear cooed, as if Pyro had any desire to pet his beastly toad-dog. As soon as Pyro got back to Pyroland, all puppies were to be banned from ever growing up into the hell hounds prowling this town like giant plague rats. "She doesn't bite, kiddo. What're you waiting for? Don't you wanna give her a hug? Come on, Pyro-"

"I DON'T KNOW YOU!" Pyro screamed and ran out of the alley. Every which way, doors were being closed. Portals to fireplaces and stoves and other possible shrines through which Pyroland's powers could be accessed were cut off right before Pyro's lensed eyes.

Barks and croaks and roars resounded from the alley while skittering paws indicated that Mary had given chase. Pyro ran.

The looping blocks and markets were no longer calming, and the more Pyro passed from ring of shops to ring of shops, the more stress pressed down on his shoulders.

Pyro miserably wished for a flamethrower. Hell, a lighter or matches or anything that could create flame and smoke and joy, but there were none to be found. Dollar stores with dollar lighters and bars with free matches were closed, closed, closed and she was trapped, trapped, trapped outside.

Mary bit at Pyro's heels with razor sharp teeth, goading her into running even faster and faster still when she was out of breath. They both knew that she was not Scout, and would be out of adrenaline soon.

Very soon.

Pyro saw the tree root five fateful seconds after his boot smashed under its bend and sent him swinging into the ground, hands out in front to break the fall.

Pyro landed in a position reminiscent of the pushups Soldier used to make her do. The nostalgic yet painful pose didn't last long as Mary leaped onto her back, slamming her face into the concrete. Mary barked and gnashed her teeth in triumph as Pyro struggled underneath her beastly weight.

"Help!" Pyro called. Someone, _anyone_ who could hear (and understand) his cries. Please just kill this bitch!

A bang finally answered his prayers.

Dead weight collapsed on Pyro's back. She was quick to roll over and shove the dog off.

Sparing a backward glance at the smoking hole in the dead center of Mary's skull, Pyro wondered if it was Sniper who had come to his rescue.

But it was not. It couldn't be since Spy and Sniper didn't share weapons like Engie and Heavy and Soldier did with their shotguns. Pyro almost smacked himself on the head.

It was none other than Spy, with his relieving cigarette stuck in his mouth and smoking gun in his hand. Bless his soul.

"Get up," he said. Pyro happily complied and joined him at his side. After holstering his pistol Spy suddenly swayed and lost balance. Pyro caught him by the arm and pulled him back to his feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Spy didn't understand her at first, but once he did, he shook his head. There was a splotch of drying blood just behind his temple.

"Non. We've been compromised," he winced. It wasn't just his head that was wounded; a gash tore through his clothing, exposing the pale, bleeding flesh of his side. Pyro gulped.

"Get Medic?" Pyro suggested. Spy shook his head again and began to walk. Pyro kept up with him out of fear he might fall over again.

"He went to find Heavy. I doubt he'll be of any use to us."

"Hospital?" Pyro tried again. He personally didn't care for hospitals, but if they could help Spy, he could allow them to slide off the blacklist just this once.

"There isn't one," Spy said. He looked as if he might topple again and Pyro hurried to sling his arm over her broad shoulders.

"Sorry," Pyro said, head hanging. Spy was visibly upset, his brows furrowed so tightly that ugly wrinkles lined his forehead.

"Where is Solder?" he asked after some time.

"Still in jail."

"But they let you out?"

Pyro nodded.

"Interesting," Spy moved his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other. Pyro reveled in the wonderful smell of smoke. Aloof as he could be, Spy definitely had his upsides. "Perhaps they thought you weren't as much of a threat as he."

"Unh?" Pyro looked at Spy curiously.

"That dog wasn't the only thing that's hunting you here," Spy could be so dramatic sometimes, but in this case, his alertist observations were a terribly useful source of information, "It is no longer safe to stay with Engineer. I'm afraid he's had a hand in the disappearance of our Sniper."

"Sniper?" Pyro repeated, worried. If Sniper had been kidnapped, Medic was missing and Soldier was in jail, that meant Spy and he were the last ones left! He shivered.

"Things are not looking well, Pyro," Spy said, clutching at his side. "Into the alley, right there."

Pyro looked as Spy tried his best to lead the way. He could vaguely recognize it as one of the alleys he had run through in order to lose Mary. Maybe that was how Spy found him so quickly. The alley was squished between two office buildings, a mess of shiny black ladders and fire escapes clinging to each side.

"Pull that ladder down, will you?" Spy asked, pointing to a ladder on the left that was just out of his injured reach. Pyro leaned Spy against a dumpster where he impatiently waited as she caught the ends of the ladder and tugged it down with a loud clang.

"Trés bon, now help me up," Pyro hoisted Spy onto the ladder before climbing on as well. A few times left her worried that Spy would fall on top of her, but they eventually reached the first fire escape where they sat and rested.

"I think it's the mayor," Spy said as he took pained breaths. What Pyro didn't know was that Spy had gotten his injuries from jumping out Engineer's second-story window, exercising his luck to its absolute extent by surviving the fall at all.

"Mr. Campbell?" He asked. The old man that looked like Santa Claus? It kind of made sense… Perhaps he was old Kris Kringle's evil twin…?

"Oui. I don't know what he wants to achieve by all of this," Spy took one deep breath, "But it's become obvious that we've managed to make ourselves part of whatever sick game he's playing at."

"Playing House?" Pyro deducted fearfully. He didn't want to become a doll-person.

"An accurate enough assessment," Spy shrugged, "I was going to tell Madame Pauling, but apparently that is out of the question. We have a limited set of moves to make between the two of us."

Pyro listened to Spy silently as he dictated his plan. She wished she could be as smart as Spy, always coming up with ingenious plans in his head.

It was a two-part plan. 1. Infiltrate the mayor's house. 2. Get the hell out of dodge and come back with reinforcements. It was Pyro's job to supply the brute strength (Spy promised they would drop by Sniper's van for Pyro's arsenal, which made her excited enough to hug him) while Spy did the snooping. Simple enough, but doomed to be much harder in practice.

* * *

9:15 PM

Night fell over Creekfield slowly, then all at once with a sheet of silence. Of censorship of the mind. Crickets called from every nook and cranny while Spy and Pyro snuck through the darkest shadows and all but sprinted to Engineer's house. Like all the other houses, his lights were out. Asleep or absent, it didn't matter.

Spy hissed as the door to Sniper's camper creaked loudly, the sound bouncing off the driveway. His would stung, and he hurriedly gestured for Pyro to hop inside and root around in the darkness for a concealable weapon. He assured the other mercenary that if he tried to walk out with his flamethrower stuffed in his suit, his position would go from "firepower" to "bait".

While Pyro searched, Spy stayed outside and lit himself a cigarette. It was cold out and the icy starts hovered overhead, almost too close to be real.

As he exhaled smoke, the van behind him rocked as Pyro climbed out, the metal body of the vehicle bouncing atop the sturdy wheels.

"Hurr," Pyro grumbled as he handed Spy a handful of bullets for his gun. Spy accepted them but tossed them back into the recesses of the vehicle.

"Thank you, but I have enough," Spy said. Pyro shrugged and placed their flare gun in the holster hanging from their belt. They were ready to go.

It was a long walk from Engineer's house in the suburbs to the mayor's home in the dead center of the town. Every day, Creekfield seemed to grow bigger and bigger around them, threatening to crash down on their heads like a wave.

Through the moat of closed storefronts, the mayor's home grew against the sky, reaching for the dark blue clouds. Finally, they were standing in front of the heart of the town, its features as forbidding in the dark of the night as they were charming in the light of day. A chill wind poured in from the desert outskirts, carrying the spice of cooling sand and cactus flowers.

Mayor Campbell's house sprung from the earth, two stories tall and painted a soft violet that shone grey in the moonlight. Two windows beside the front door atop the latticed porch reflected the glow of the streetlights. The entire house was awash in surreal brightness.

"I'm surprised there isn't more security here," Spy said. He didn't expect an answer from Pyro, but Pyro shrugged anyways. He seemed on edge. Come to think of it, he had seemed on edge since they stepped foot into this town.

"Pyro," he said, snapping the firebug out of their reverie. "I'm going to need you to keep watch while I find an opening. Once I'm in, I'll let you in as well."

Pyro nodded and brandished their flare gun.

"Don't make too much of a scene," Spy warned and turned to start on the house. He could enter from any window he chose, but seemed it would be most advantageous to enter the study from the ground floor.

The window opened with minimal difficulty, which immediately placed Spy on guard. With a cautious grace, he placed one leg on the carpet, followed by the other. The study was absent of any surveillance whatsoever. The door to the rest of the house even stood wide open.

Spy set to the large oak shelves of binders and books. Suspiciously, many of them were blank, the others stuffed with beyond satisfactory reports from every local industry that could be named off the top of one's head. Everything was squeaky clean on the surface, but something dark and falsified lurked in the depths.

The depths…

Spy's eyes widened.

Of course! Spy slipped out f the study into the rest of the house. Outside of the window, Spy could see Pyro dutifully standing on the curb, keeping careful watch and rubbing the trigger of their flare gun with their thumb. Good.

Spy crossed the room in long strides and carefully unlocked the front door. The door opened without a sound. Spy caught Pyro's attention and gestured for him to come inside.

Unfortunately, Pyro was less stealthy than Spy despite his habit for ambushing enemies on the battlefield. The boards of the porch creaked under the firebug's weight.

"Shh!" Spy hissed, Pyro's had hung low, abashed. "Don't make any more noise; we cannot afford to mess up."

Pyro nodded and followed him back inside as he searched for the basement. Some portions of the house were well lit by the moon. Others were dark and near impossible to navigate without clinging to the walls. Spy felt his already stressed patience wear further when Pyro knocked down a hanging frame. Closer inspection with the aid of his lighter revealed it to be a photograph from an anniversary picnic. Creekfield's first ever. Spy could recognize a lot of the people, but somehow they all seemed different. Less… perfect.

There was Joanna, but she wasn't as beautiful as the woman whom Scout was to marry in just 1 day. She was still very lovely, but a minor imperfection stood out like a sore thumb. A wide, milky scar occupied most of her right cheek and extended into her hair where a patch of incredibly short hair struggled to keep up with the long, brown locks surrounding it. Spy also saw the officer that arrested Soldier and Pyro. He was a lot fatter and missing two fingers on his left hand. Finally, in the center of the picture was the mayor, who looked more like a mad scientist than the jolly old man who had greeted them. Stringy hair lay combed over his head in every which way, trying in vain to cover his bald spot while a scraggly beard hung limply against his chin. The only thing vaguely recognizable was his trademark suit and greyhound who sat obediently at his side.

Spy frowned and hung the photo back up.

"Be more careful," he chided as they began to walk again. He could hear a shuffle of fabric as Pyro nodded.

At last they came across two staircases. One led to the second floor of the house where the mayor presumably slept and the other led down below ground. A basement. The perfect place to bury the town's dirty little secrets.

"Stay here and keep watch. If someone arrives, fire a flare," Spy instructed. Pyro nodded and spun around, blocking any further entry to the lower staircase and keeping a hand poised on the flare gun's holster. Spy quietly eased down the stairs. The door to the basement was locked, but it was laughably easy to pick. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Spy was in.

"Mon dieu," Spy whistled as he flicked on the lights. In stark contrast with the rest of the house's antiquated design, the basement was like something out of one of Pyro's junky science fiction TV shows. It was a bright white room bathed in long fluorescent lights and crowded with counters and a goliath of a computer. The computer's matching screen was sectioned into multiple smaller screens, each providing alternating views of something. Spy realized with mounting sickness that they were views of people's bedrooms and stores. No corner of Creekfield was left unseen. Every alley, every bathroom was visible to the mayor's paternal eyes, each screen cycling from sleeping couples to vigilant patrolmen.

"This is insane…" Spy said to himself as he saw Demoman sleeping on one of the screens, the eye that Pyro had ripped out replaced and good as new.

Spy left the screens and came across rows of examination tables, one of them concealing a human shape beneath a white cloth. Spy entertained the thought of discovering Frankenstein's monster under it. However, the reality was much, much worse.

With a single pull, the cloth fluttered to the ground and Spy couldn't help but gasp at the familiar body that lay naked on the stainless steel table.

It was Soldier.

His eyes were closed, relaxed as if asleep of unconscious. Spy figured it was the latter as he gazed at his teammate's torso. It was free of the scars the American had proudly displayed like medals of honor in the locker room after every battle. Spy also noticed that his muscles had shrunk somehow, leaving him with a much trimmer but no less powerful form. He seemed so alien… so much younger.

"What did they do to you?" Spy asked the unconscious man.

"We improved him," came a stern voice. Spy's head whipped around to see the mayor, fully dressed. Esther stood at his side, baring long, yellow teeth. Behind him were several patrolmen accompanied by their own dogs. One of the larger officers had Pyro's arms twisted uncomfortably behind their back and head bent in submission. "And we can improve you too if you'd just let us."

Spy backed against the table only to be caught by surprise by none other than Soldier himself, who now crouched on the table, very much awake and holding the saboteur's arms in an unrelenting grip. Still strong as ever, just with a Creekfield flair.

"But why?" Spy asked, unable to manage any other coherent questions as he felt Soldier's steady breaths down his back. He shivered.

"Why not? Mayor Campbell shrugged. "Isn't it every man's dream to live in a perfect society? To achieve a realistic utopia?"

"I can hardly call this a utopia," Spy scoffed, but was silenced when Soldier bent his arms at a painful angle.

"That's enough, Jane," Campbell held up a hand and Soldier slackened his hold, "He isn't going anywhere."

Spy shrugged Soldier's hands off of him, rubbing his forearms, "But why us? Why Engineer and Scout?"

"We needed a mechanic and Joanna needed a husband. It's your own fault you tried to take them back," the Mayor explained as if it was common knowledge, "But I do believe I have the perfect jobs for you two too, so don't worry."

"Go to hell," Spy bit. Campbell scowled. With a snap of his fingers, the officers and their mutts began to advance, their movements uniform as if they were a single creature.

Spy's hand was on his gun in a flash. He dodged one officer's grasp and shot when one of the dogs lunged at him. A spray of blood erupted from the hound's head, staining the uniform of the patrolman behind it. It didn't even phase the officer as he removed his baton from his belt and struck Spy across the face before the Frenchman could fire again.

Spy fell against the wall, dazed. Alarmed, Pyro fought against their captor's hold, succeeding in freeing themselves and slamming their fist into the policeman's face. The Mayor leaped out of Pyro's path as the firebug ran to aid their friend. Shoving two other officers away with momentum alone, Pyro braced one arm against the wall and offered the other to Spy.

As soon as Spy was back on his feet, Pyro took out their flare gun. Another mutt barked and charged, biting down on Pyro's leg with a single snap of jaws. Pyro screamed and tried to shake the dog off their calf but it only served to tighten the dog's hold.

Spy made to help but instead took a heavy blow to the gut by one of the officers Pyro had shoved. The other officer soon joined in, effectively occupying Spy. Pyro continued to scream as the dog shook at their calf with muffled snarls. It was near impossible to get a solid lock on the hound with the flare gun and a misfire could mean anything from further injuring their leg or aggravating the dog.

Panicked, Pyro looked for Spy only to watch the man crumble to his knees as he took simultaneous blows from his adversaries. A some point, he had dropped his gun.

So…

Was this how it was all going to end?

With renewed fervor, Pyro twisted around and began to smash the dog against the wall and kick at it with their other leg. There was a crack as ribs were broken and Pyro felt the strength of the teeth in their flesh falter and eventually withdraw. The dog whimpered as its punctured lungs filled up with blood, but Pyro felt no sympathy for it. With the same leg it had bitten, Pyro smashed the hound's throat with two precise stomps.

Setting the other hound's fur aflame with their flare gun, Pyro went to assist Spy.

"Behind you!" Spy yelled as he was caught in a headlock.

Pyro was too slow to react however, and suffered the consequences when a hand grabbed their collar and threw them to the floor.

Pyro winced as Soldier climbed on top of them and punched them. A spider web of cracks shattered Pyro's vision out of the gas mask's left lens into a kaleidoscope of Soldier's emotionless face. There was no way Pyro could best the man in hand to hand combat.

A familiar gunshot reverberated off the white walls, forcing Pyro's eyes shut both out of fear of the sound and fear of the inevitable shower of broken glass once Soldier shattered their lenses in.

The glass-shattering fist never came. Slowly, Pyro looked up to see smoke emanating from the back of Soldier's head. His eyes stared down at Pyro, but no longer registered the firebug's presence. He was dead.

Looking past the precariously balanced corpse, Pyro could see Spy lying on the ground, one eye swollen shut with his gun in his hand. His eyes betrayed that he hadn't been aiming for Soldier, and his heavy breathing indicated that he was long since past the end of his rope. The officers could tell as well and stooped down to cuff him.

Pyro hurriedly bucked Soldier's body off of them and struggled to their knees, ready to ignite both officers and rescue their teammate.

"Non!" Spy yelled, deciphering Pyro's intentions. "Just go! Run!"

Pyro hesitated and tripped over the charred corpse of the dog they had killed.

"Go, damn it!" Spy screamed as he was forced to his feet. Blood dribbled down his face from a gash above his brow.

Finally, Pyro's legs began to work properly and the firebug fled upstairs. The mayor was nowhere to be found, but the red and blue lights blinking outside were a sure sign he had phoned in reinforcements. He had the entire town at his disposal, after all.

Pyro cursed inwardly and ran away from the front door and down the hall they and Spy had come from. The study window was still open. Pyro climbed out faster than they could manage and ended up falling face-first into the flowers lining the house.

Wiping dew and smashed leaf off their mask, Pyro tried to attract as little attention in their flight as possible…

…which was hard to do in a bright red suit. One bark alerted several others and soon reinforcement canines were upon Pyro. Time to go.

The firebug narrowly avoided one hound's fangs and snapped the neck of another that tried to tackle them down. Rows and rows of houses darted by on either side, perfectly mirroring each other as Pyro ran through the streets, lungs raw and burning. No time to find Spy's web of fire escapes. Pyro had to find somewhere else where the dogs couldn't reach. Anywhere would do.

Engineer was asleep when Pyro busted down his back door, and remained so when five ferocious hounds chased the intruder up the stairs only to have the guest room door slammed in their snouts. They barked and scratched at the door while Pyro pushed the guest bed against the door, barring any further entry. Engineer continued to sleep, blissfully unaware.

Dejected, the hounds retreated. Pyro remained inside the guest room, curled up in a tight, sleepless ball. Counting each second as it slipped by like sand, Pyro anxiously awaited the morning to wash away this horrific night.

Meanwhile, Spy no longer knew where he was, confined in a cloud of murky white light and sound. He felt as if he was breathing out his ears and hearing with his eyes, his broken nose and gagged mouth nonexistent to him. If he could form a single coherent thought, he would chalk the cause of his condition up to the concoction of drugs he had been force fed. However he could not and did not, only focusing on his steady heartbeat while his disconnected soul panicked and pride perished in a hideous struggle against his impotence.

There were voices above him, beside him and in him, but he could not understand what they were saying. He could only assume as a line of silver crossed his view and began to saw open his head.


	7. 6: The Third Day

9:36 AM  
PYROVISION

The sun filtered in through the blinds and graced Pyro's shoulder with warm, yellow tendrils. Pyro's eyes opened hesitantly, gazing across the glossy floorboards to the bed positioned against the door. Still there, still safe.

Pyro slowly sat up, bones aching. An invisible sorrow pulled at every limb, coaxing her to lay back down and give up. It really would be so much easier than trying to fight on against an entire town of superpeople.

Pyro was just pyro. No Medic to heal him, no Engineer to refuel him, no friends to fight beside.

'_Hey Pyro. Why're you just bumming around?'_

Pyro looked up. Could it be?

'_It is! Come here and give me a hug, Pyro!'_ Balloonicorn neighed. Pyro crawled over to the matchbook that had fallen out of the sideways bed's pillow case. How could he have forgotten about it?

Pyro picked up the matchbook and held it close, feeling Balloonicorn's stubby hooves hug her back.

"Oh, Balloonicorn, what am I going to do?" Pyro asked, hoisting the bubbly balloon animal to the light.

'_To be honest, I have no idea.'_ Balloonicorn admitted, his inflatable horn drooping. _'These people are evil zombies! I'd give them the ol' one-two if I could, but sadly they don't seem to like starting fires in these parts…'_

"No kidding," Pyro sighed. If only there was a way to un-brainwash his friends!

Balloonicorn suddenly sprung up with a silly little squeak.

'_Pyro, you're a genius!'_ he nickered.

"I am?" Pyro asked. She couldn't remember having any genius-y ideas.

'_Oh, don't be silly, of course you are!' _Balloonicorn danced around Pyro's head excitedly. _'You know exactly what you have to do!'_

"I do?"

'_Yes siree! I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?'_

"Maybe…"

'_Fine, fine. B-'_

"Butterflies?"

'_No, but good guess. U-'_

"Ukelele?"

'_No more guesses from you until you know for sure, you dumbyhead! Now where was I? B… U… R… N… I…'_

Pyro gasped in delight.

"Burn it down! I have to burn the whole place down! _That'll_ save my friends!" Pyro clapped, bouncing on his behind.

'Yes! You got it! I knew you'd get it! You've always been the smart one, Pyro!' Balloonicorn snuggled Pyro's cheek.

The sound of wood dragging across wood echoed through the house. Then, the tentative creak of a door that had not been treated well since its last oiling. Finally, Pyro glanced down both sides of the hall before creeping out and scuttling down the stairs.. No Engie. Good.

Pyro peered into the kitchen where the back door had since been repaired. It was unlocked. Creeping around the side of the house, Pyro kept a wary eye out for any residents. However, it seemed the street was devoid of people. Each car was in each driveway, but there were no daddies mowing the lawn or kiddies in the streets. It was as if all the strange people of Creekfield had up and returned to their home planet.

Pyro hoped they didn't take the team with them. The Old Ones were up there! And they didn't like humans too much.

Pyro walked down the street, apprehensive. Balloonicorn had gone ahead to scout out the perfect place to ignite the purifying blaze, so until then Pyro had time to cuddle away.

About a half-hour of walking later, Pyro found out where everyone had gone: the anniversary picnic.

It was intimidating to see so many flawless people concentrated into one park. It reminded Pyro of the scary, cold camps out in the desert only this one was completely devoid of people who looked anything like Pyro. Perhaps it was a bad analogy to bring up, Pyro thought to herself as a laughing couple walked by, looking like the mother and father in a flour commercial Pyro had seen. It did little to quiet her fears. Those flour people were her least favorite commercial.

Within the throbbing crowd, Pyro vaguely recognized one of the men. It took him forever to realize it was Sniper. His sunglasses, scar, and hat were all gone, leaving a fresh, confident young man behind. He hardly looked like the Sniper Pyro knew at all, chatting up a bunch of pretty girls and laughing. New Sniper gave him the creeps.

Pyro could have sworn she saw Spy as well, but it couldn't have been. The man in question had the same fierce eyes and long nose, but lacked Spy's trademark mask. Weird coincidence, weirder possibility.

There was also Scout, Demoman and Medic, standing in a circle in their Sunday best, laughing like old times but different. Too different.

Pyro began to feel sick an hurried over to the dessert table to take a breather, and that's when he saw her.

Joanna could be seen weaving through the ebb and flow of the crowd, slipping in and out of sight like a snake. A big, smiling snake.

A cold sweat pricked at the back of Pyro's neck. One uncomfortable hand gripped the table cloth while the other traveled sightlessly along the tabletop, searching. Pyro needed to act soon, Pyro needed to act fast. Eyes never leaving the approaching snake-woman, his fingers curled around the handle of the long serving knife beside the cakes. Just as Joanna opened her grinning mouth to speak, Pyro's right hand rose and drove the knife into his left hand in one swift, brutal motion. The sharp 'thunk' that accompanied the blade's instantaneous journey into the cloth and wood of the table seemed to arrive at Pyro's ears several seconds later than the move itself. He whimpered as he tore the knife out of the table with the same surprising strength that sent it in and wrenched it from side to side, ripping his palm beneath the thick rubber glove with periodic spurts of blood.

Smoky lenses half-fogged by heavy breaths and hand bleeding, Pyro moved to the side of the desert table. Joanna had since arrived at the table and now stood opposite her, still smiling. If she had been shocked by Pyro's sudden self-injury, any semblance of it had faded away fast.

"How are you doing today, Pyro?" Joanna asked. Pyro could have sworn he saw a forked tongue lurking behind her pearly-white teeth.

'_She-snake, she-snake,_' a voice inside Pyro's head chanted in warning. Balloonicorn had finally returned to Pyro's breast pocket, but did not speak of any location. Perhaps he trusted Pyro was setting herself on the right path. She glanced around nervously at the faces of the other picnic-goers, catching glimpses of sneering alligator jaws and snapping turtle beaks and desperately hoped that was the case.

Slender fingers with manicured claws drew Pyro's attention back to Joanna.

"Pyro, are you there?"

Without speaking, Pyro held up his hand and pointed.

"Hospital," He said slowly, though the result was still muffled.

Joanna tilted her head, as if Pyro's bleeding hand wasn't enough of a hint, before realization crossed her face like she just understood a secret joke.

"Let me find Mayor Campbell for you. Don't you wander off, now!" she insisted before delving into the crowd with all the fluid grace of a twisting serpent. As the blood ran down Pyro's hand, she began to feel sick.

It wasn't long before Joanna returned with Mr. Campbell, as if he had been lurking just out of sight, waiting for a chance to whisk Pyro away where nobody could hear her scream.

'_Well, now is his chance'_, Pyro admitted grimly.

"Oh, my child! That is a nasty injury you have there. Whatever could you have done?" the mayor asked. His expression was a cruel mockery of concern.

Pyro shrugged. How would she know? She was crazy, remember?

"Well don't hurt yourself any more trying to remember," Campbell laughed, "Let's get you some treatment, my child."

Pyro made no sound, but obediently followed Mayor Campbell through the crowd as he parted it like the red sea. On the curb, the mayor's Dart was awaiting them, ready to roar through the streets of hell on earth.

For the better half of the drive, the mayor was silent, which Pyro was thankful for. A victory speech would just make the procession through the sunny suburbs even more humiliating. Much to his chagrin, Campbell soon began to speak, his tone chipper and relaxed.

"You're probably wondering why I had my men let you out of jail if I was just going to catch you again," Campbell said as he drove,

No, I don't. Don't talk to me anymore.

"Well," he chuckled, "I have to admit I really didn't see you as a threat to Creekfield. Not to be rude, son, but you're crazier than a mad cow!"

I'm not crazy. Just leave me alone.

"I guess if anything, I expected you to run out of town and die in the desert. Thinking about it, this is so much more humane, isn't it?"

No it isn't. You're a monster and I hate you.

"I can fix you, Pyro. Whatever you are under there, I can make you happy and normal. Actually, beyond normal. You'll be perfect, isn't that exciting?"

'_Don't listen to him!'_ Balloonicorn urged, finally speaking up. Pyro couldn't risk speaking back, but nodded.

"Oh! Here we are," The car pulled to a stop. Pyro recognized the mayor's house through the tinted window. "Now, let's make this quick. I want to get back to the picnic in time for the town picture."

Of course.

Pyro didn't need to be bound of shackled, which pleased Campbell. Perhaps he thought Pyro didn't understand him. She was crazy, after all.

Pyro obediently followed the mayor into the house.

Esther looked up from her place on the rug, but settled back into her afternoon nap when Campbell placed a reassuring hand on her head. Good dog, dearest friend.

Pyro just looked at her, and with one suspicious eye open, she looked back. Bitch.

Mayor Campbell took Pyro downstairs to his basement lab. Pyro looked at the familiar screens and examination tables with contempt. Spy was a zombie now because of them.

"Now, the procedure is very simple. I'm going to open up your head and install some very special implants that will form you into a model citizen in just one hour!" Donning a white coat, Campbell picked up a slim case displaying four small pieces of metal. They were covered in all sorts of bumps and wires, like something out of Star Trek. Pyro wished the Enterprise would just come by and beam him away from this place.

But no. Pyro had to be strong. For all of her friends.

'_I believe in you!'_ Balloonicorn whispered.

"Don't worry," Campbell said, misinterpreting Pyro's hesitance, "You'll be all numbed up and won't feel a thing. Now just lay down on the table there…"

But Pyro didn't.

The mayor's smile twitched. "I said to get on the table, Pyro."

Pyro stood still.

Mayor Campbell frowned, his deep pink face truly ugly. "Get on the table. Now."

When Pyro still resisted, Campbell sighed a long, resigned sigh. He began to approach the mercenary with a very particular look on his face. Pyro knew that look. She had gotten that look from mean old men in white coats her entire life.

She refused to get it today.

Campbell's advance was halted by the barrel of a flare gun. His eyes widened, and Pyro smiled behind his mask.

"You wouldn't," the mayor stuttered. Genuine fear distorted his face. The sweetness of the moment made Pyro giggle. Was Pyro still crazy? Was she?

Pyro squeezed the trigger and the familiar shriek of a flare echoed through the room, accompanied by the mayor's pained scream as he was knocked off his feet. The floodgates were open and it was time to tear through the lab.

Priceless technology was dirt in Pyro's eyes. Test tubes were shattered and screens were kicked in.

"DON'T!" Campbell roared as he groveled on the ground, clutching his burnt face. His nose was bleeding profusely.

Pyro didn't even spare him a passing glance as he flipped over examination tables and ripped cords from their sockets.

The more Pyro destroyed, the more she felt there was something missing. It wasn't enough to destroy the fingers and toes. The mind-control squares and surveillance screens weren't enough. The brain needed to be destroyed as well. Not Campbell's brain. No, he was just the figurehead.

But where would one hide a brain?

Pyro looked at the long counter dividing the computer wall and the tables.

Upon rolling back the cabinet doors, Pyro was greeted with a block of dials and switches neatly labeled with abstract concepts like "congeniality" and "obedience".

Pyro didn't care to read the others, and did not get the chance to.

There was a crack of a gun and fire exploded through Pyro's shoulder, ripping flesh and muscle. It was far from the first time Pyro had been shot, but it was no less excruciating. Another shot whizzed past Pyro's head and shattered a chunk of the countertop. Pyro leaped out of the way as the sound of shotgun shells hitting the floor echoed through the room.

"I didn't want to have to do this," Pyro peeked over the overturned table she had sought shelter behind to see the burnt face of the mayor, warped further with pain and rage. In his hands was a smoking shotgun. "Sadly, you've left me no choice."

He aimed the gun again and Pyro ducked back behind the table. Trapped like a rat. Pyro's mind raced as a steady flow of blood stained the inside of his suit. Like before, doors were closing, escapes fleeing like insects. Disgusting and cowardly but alive.

Another shot dented the table and pushed it. Footsteps indicated the mayor's approach. Fuck.

Pyro's breathing quickened uncontrollably. If a flare to the face couldn't stop this monster man, what could?

Instead of killing Pyro like a wounded fish in a barrel, Campbell turned away from the table and crouched in front of his mind control machine. Pyro peeked over the edge of the table curiously.

"You know, I'm not a violent man. I ought to give you one last chance," he said as he inserted a small key into a panel and opened up a hidden set of buttons. "But since you've proven yourself incapable of listening to reason, I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you ample persuasion. See this black button here?"

Pyro saw. It was small and short, safely hidden from unwitting hands.

"All I have to do is key in a code and flip this switch and I can transmit a signal that will shut down the Creekfield installations and ultimately, the brain of a citizen of my choosing. I've never had to use it, so I have yet to perfect the speed of the shut down. At the speed it's at now, it's a very painful death… Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Pyro's soul went cold.

"No…" Pyro pleaded. The mayor heard him and smiled.

"All you have to do is surrender, child. You and all of your friends can live happily ever after here. Don't you want that?"

'_Don't listen to him! You know what Miss Admin will do if you give up now!'_ Balloonicorn urged.

Pyro's eyes fell from the mayor's treacherous face to the shotgun leaning beside the table. Was it out of ammo or was he just stupid?

Despite being unable to see Pyro's eyes behind her lenses, the mayor shook his head and moved the gun over to his side. "Don't even think about it."

Pyro despised the old man's patronizing tone. Even though she had burned his big fat face off, he was acting like she was hardly a minor threat, just a misbehaving child. It was a tone the doctors from the big hospital used when Pyro didn't want to take the icky meds the nurse brought in. Pyro hated those doctors and hated that place. Pyro hated this monster mayor and hated Creekfield.

With an animalistic scream, Pyro leaped over the table and tackled the mayor against his machine. It was by grace of god that the mayor's head missed the little black button. Pyro could see a code had already been plugged in, no doubt the code of one of her friends. How dare he try to hurt Pyro's friends.

With tightened fists, Pyro wailed on the mayor, all the frustration and betrayal and fear tearing Pyro's shoulder further but harming the old mayor more.

Stupid stupid stupid _stupid bastard!_

Pyro didn't notice he had begun to cry, or that at some point he had switched from his fists to the butt of the shotgun until Mayor Amos Campbell's strangled breaths and screams gave way to wheezing breaths and desperate, whispered pleas for mercy.

Finally Pyro's berserk wore off, and she stood up from the barely conscious form of her adversary. The rage and pain was gone now, leaving behind a mist of fearsome calm. It was over. It was all finally over.

With careful hands, Pyro unloaded the rest of the shotgun's ammo into the mind control machine, rendering is a useless piece of junk. Tendrils of smoke caressed his mask as the first, curious tongues of flame began to explore the lab. Over.

Pyro said nothing as she noticed Campbell dragging his pathetic, defeated form over to the shambles of his life's work and held it tight. He would rather go down with his demented ship than go to prison as a madman. Pyro respected his wishes and dealt him a final, lethal blow to the back of his head with the empty shotgun. Over.

Pyro turned to see Esther standing at the base of the stairs, watching. She did not attack. She did not make a single noise. She simply stared with her golden eyes. Her tail was firmly pressed against her hind legs in absolute submission. Smart dog. Dearest friend.

Pyro passed her and went up the stairs. She did not follow, but simply tracked his movements with her sad eyes. She would not leave her master. Pyro respected her wishes too and barred the door to the lab with the shotgun. It was all over.

The house was now empty; exorcised of evil. Its inhabitants were doomed to hell and its walls awaited the caress of a blissful inferno. Pyro wished she could witness the flames as they surrounded her and devoured the house, but she had to go and find her friends.

The front door seemed to open for him, a carpet of smoke and rainbows awaiting his tired boots. It was time to go home.

Pyro smiled as everything went dark.


	8. 7: It's finally over i'm free yeehaw

10:30 AM  
CREEKFIELD PARK

Sniper blinked dumbly.

One second he was barely conscious and being eased onto a cold table. The next he was sitting on his ass in a park, resting his aching head against a table laden with spirits.

What the hell happened?

He could vaguely remember having some awful dream about willingly moving into Creekfield and becoming a policeman with Demoman…

Demo!

Sniper looked around for the man, slowly realizing that he wasn't the only one who seemed to be recovering from some nightmarish vision of domesticity. A girl on the other side of the table was staring at her bright red manicure, puzzled. Her dress hugged her curvy form uncomfortably, as if she had somehow grown since she put it on that morning.

Sniper looked at his own outfit and clapped a hand to his head where his hat should have been. He looked awful.

"Motherfucker! My eye!"

Sniper looked to his left and saw Demoman hurry over clutching his bleeding eye.

"Tav…?" Sniper asked. Demoman didn't answer until he had poured himself a generous amount of the first bottle of alcohol he could find.

"My fookin' eye fell out!" he gasped between gulps of drink, "hurts like a bitch!"

Sniper was allowed a glimpse of Demoman's empty eye socket and lost his appetite on the spot.

"What the fuck's goin' on here, mate?" he asked, throwing the useless eyeball on the ground, "I had a dream I got me eye back, then I wake up here and _this_ rolls right out!"

Demoman kicked up a tuft of grass over the eye.

"I didn't even get ta enjoy havin' it work…"

Sniper looked at the Scotsman and offered a small smile, placing his hand on his shoulder "If it makes ye feel better, I like the eyepatch better. Makes ya look real ace."

"Yer just sayin' that," Demoman sniffed, no longer bothering hiding his missing eye. A young man walked up to ask what was going on, got an eyeful of the empty socket, shut his mouth and walked away. Demoman shot the retreating back an indignant sneer.

"Yeah? Try me," Sniper leaned in and kissed his lover on the cheek, feeling the warmth of the other man. Demoman couldn't stay sour for long and kissed him back, lips tasting like red wine, "Now let's try to make sense of this mess."

* * *

10:40 AM

When Soldier had come to, he was in Doublecross, not Creekfield. It didn't take him long to deduce what had happened. There was a hole in his memory; a murky, black vision of everything he despised. Doctors, sedation and brainwashing. Before that, he had a much clearer picture. Shortly after they had sent Pyro away from Creekfield, he was escorted out the back into a police car with tinted windows. That was when things went fuzzy.

There wasn't any time to bum around the base trying to recollect the past few days. He knew enough to know he had to go back there. He just needed a ride.

The Administrator had been strangely generous with her aid. In addition to a ride back to Creekfield, she had also commissioned two teams of special forces. Just in case he was met with further opposition, she said.

The men's faces were covered with peculiar bullet-proof helmets, long visors seemingly serving one purpose only; to obscure any familiar facial features. This is not what tipped Soldier off to their strange familiarity, however. It was their body shapes, so widely varied that the eighteen men accompanying him could only him and his own men but not. Soldier wondered what else the enigmatic woman he had only seen a handful of times (never in person, of course) had hidden up her sleeve.

They did not talk for the entire commute, but that was a change that Soldier welcomed. His own team could learn a thing or two from these purple people.

When they arrived at Creekfield, it was as if all hell had broken loose and flooded the peaceful town. People wandered the streets in outgrown (sometimes undergrown) clothing looking lost and confused. Some would look up at the nondescript violet vans driving by; others would duck their heads further. They had arrived at the confusing aftermath of a terrible enlightenment.

They stopped at the park first, where most of the town's population still lingered. A banner proudly displaying that it was Creekfield's fifth anniversary fluttered in the breeze.

Soldier recognized his team standing in a group questioning the other picnicgoers. As soon as his van came to a complete stop, he leaped out and ran to them.

"What in red, white and blue blazes happened here?" he asked. His teammates looked from one to another with different levels of discomfort and hesitation.

"We… do not really know," Medic said, "We have been trying to find that out all morning."

"Hmph, you people look like you had to witness a bunch of puppies get publicly executed," Soldier scoffed.

"_Oh my god!"_ the team's conversation was interrupted by a young woman who pointed with a chipped pink nail at a column of smoke rising from somewhere in the town center. "Fire!"

"Could it be…?" Heavy looked to his teammates and made the connection. They were missing someone. Someone with a penchant for arson.

"Merde," Spy cursed from underneath the paper bag he had comically employed to conceal his face. With no further explanation, he ran for the center of the town.

Soldier turned to the Administrator's squad, his chest swelling with authority.

"One team, stay here! Other team, follow that smoke!" he commanded. "One of my men are in trouble!"

The town seemed to have shrunk, whether from familiarity or defeat was up for debate. It didn't matter now. The burning house, the mayor's house, swung into view. All the windows had been clouded over with dark smoke that billowed out the open front door. On the front lawn lay a familiar form.

"Pyro," Medic gasped from his spot in the van behind Soldier's seat. Once the vehicle had pulled beside the curb, Medic jumped out of the vehicle and ran across the grass. In seconds, he was by the motionless mercenary's side, rolling them over.

With no medigun to speed up the process, Medic had to rely on his own intuition as he took Pyro's vitals. Carefully, he slipped two fingers underneath the gas mask to search for a pulse. A gloved hand rose weakly and clung to Medic's wrist, pleading the doctor not to remove their owner's mask.

Even though Medic had no such intentions, he placed a reassuring hand over Pyro's and gave it a squeeze. At least Pyro was alive.

Not much about Pyro's health could be said beyond that, however. One lens of the gas mask was cracked, the suit fabric over their left leg had been torn away revealing a ragged dog bite and a gunshot wound had turned Pyro's shoulder into a mass of red. Not the most gruesome wounds he had ever seen, but bad enough.

Behind Medic, one of the squadsmen Soldier had brought along rushed into the burning house with a familiar flamethrower. Bursts of air could be heard outside as the blaze, more smoke than flame, was extinguished. One of the other helmet-wearing individuals appeared beside Medic.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Not well. He has two untreated wounds and has lost a lot of blood," Medic reported.

"Get him into the van," the squadsman instructed, "I can treat him."

Medic eyed the mysterious man skeptically, but complied, hefting Pyro in his arms and following him to the back of the van. Pyro groaned, but did not resist the move. Behind them, automated sprinklers sprung up from the earth and watered the lawn.

* * *

1:30 PM  
THE NEXT DAY

It would be another day before the RED team could leave Creekfield. The town had been all but deserted, many tourists-turned-residents returning to their real homes. Only a few people, the original residents, remained puttering about their perfect homes with faces sagging with disillusionment. Some planned to move elsewhere, others fantasized about rebuilding the town from its ashes; this time without brainwashing innocent people.

One of these dreamers was Joanna.

Scout found her in her (formerly their) lovely little abode, staring out the sunroom window from her writing desk. From her spot, she could see Sniper's van, the Administrator's men's van, and Engineer's new truck lined on the sidewalk. She was the only one still living on the street.

Guilt ran its long fingers along Scout's heartstrings even though he knew it wasn't entirely his fault.

"Umm," he cleared his throat and Joanna jumped. When she turned to face him, Scout couldn't help but flinch at the scar that marred her lovely face. She could only direct her gaze to the ground, ashamed of her appearance.

"Hello, Hogarth," she said.

"Hey, Jo." There was a part of Scout's mind that remembered his brief time as a law intern. That was the nickname he had attached to her. It seemed too impersonal now, however, and he instantly regret saying it.

Nonetheless, Joanna smiled at the pet name just like she did when they were still engaged.

"I guess this is goodbye, then?" she asked with a sad, little smile.

"Yeah.. I-I mean my life kinda depends on it," Scout said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You know," Joanna crossed one smooth leg over the other, "I think I'm okay with that."

"Really?"

"We've known each other for hardly a week, I mean," she chuckled without any real mirth, "Perhaps if we'd been you know, together longer, I might have come to really like you. I'm sorry it can't be so…"

"Nah, it's fine, really," Scout shook his head. Ouch, "Any chance I'll ever hear from ya again?"

"Maybe. It's going to take a lot of work to get people to come back to this place… I'm going to be really busy…"

"I'm going to be pretty busy too," Scout smiled nervously.

What would have been a bout of awkward silence was cut short by Scout's hand; outstretched, stiff and waiting for Joanna's.

Joanna took his hand then pulled him close to give him a chaste kiss. Her lips were soft, but Scout knew he couldn't fool himself into believing its sweetness and finality meant anything more than the closure of one big mistake.

"See you around, Joanna."

The camper door opened and shut as Scout joined Medic on the Sniper's bed in the hot shade of the afternoon.

"How did it go? Did you end it with her?" the doctor asked casually.

"Nah," Scout laughed when he saw Medic turn his head to look at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically, "She ended it with me first. Dropped me right on my ass."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I'm not. She's bound to find a better guy that'll treat her right," Scout shrugged. His tone was bitter but free of animosity towards his ex-fiancé. Medic could tell he was going to miss her for a long time.

"We can only hope," Medic nodded and looked at the low ceiling above Sniper's bed, "Do you know what band this poster is from?"

Scout looked at the ceiling as well, legs hanging off the edge of the narrow bed uncomfortably. On the ceiling of the camper was a slim poster displaying a naked woman with no head, a large eye floating above her flower-filled neck.

"Hell if I know," Scout sniffed, "Funny-lookin' poster, though."

"Doesn't look like anything I would care to listen to," Medic chuckled.

The camper door opened once more and in stepped Sniper himself, Pyro hefted over his shoulder.

"Is he…?" Scout slid off the bed, worried.

"Asleep? Heavy as fuck? You bet," Sniper grunted as he carried the sleeping RED inside, "I'm puttin' 'er on the bed, you can either be by'm or beneath'm."

"Yo Sniper," Scout began after he and Medic had gotten out of the way, "Where's that poster on your ceilin' from?"

"That thing? Got it from that trip t'Vegas I took with Demo. Can't remember who the hell I bought it from, though." Sniper set Pyro down on his bed gingerly, so as not to wake them.

"Do ya get off to it?" Scout snorted before receiving a painful punch from the older man.

"Shut it or yer ridin' on the hood, kid," Sniper threatened, though both he and Scout knew he wouldn't actually do it.

No, Sniper was a more simplistic man than that. He'd simply make Scout walk all the way back to Doublecross instead.

THE END


	9. Haha fuck you there's an epilogue

BUILDER'S LEAGUE UNITED HEADQUARTERS  
12:00 NOON

It was cool inside, but not cold. Whirring fans regulated the air in the room, keeping it at a tolerable temperature for the ancient man at the large, stainless steel desk.

He had his chair swiveled to the window, looking over his industrial kingdom as he had for almost two centuries. Sometimes he would black out and get a glimpse of the nothingness that awaited his evil soul. but those times no longer frightened him. It was just death. A fickle little inconvenience with a penchant for sinking its skeletal tendrils into his rotting brain in an attempt to stay relevant. But he had more important things to lose sleep over.

His gravel empire had hit a glass ceiling. Beyond the high window was the illustrious, modern and solely Australian world of technology; mocking him and his small, grey American rocks. Laughter at his brother's pitiful little pebbles he could stand and even encourage, but how dare they point their fat, calloused fingers and sneer at his sophisticated designs!

Fortunately, he knew exactly what he needed to shatter that glass ceiling. It would hide in his metaphorical sleeve as his ace in the hole, waiting for just the right time to strike.

No need to tell Helen. As indispensable as she was despite her sex, this was _his _secret weapon. All his for the taking.

"Ya wanted t'see me, Mr. Mann?" came a soft, Texan drawl from behind.

Blutarch Mann spun around to face the Engineer. His Engineer.

"Yes, yes I did. Have you ever heard of a little speck on the map called Creekfield?"

"Can't say I have, sir," Engineer shook his head respectfully.

"That's because my blasted brother's men burned it off the map!" he hissed, trying to keep his temper in check. If he let his blood pressure get too high, he might die again, "But no matter, it is being rebuilt thanks to a generous grant from yours truly."

"That's mighty generous of ya!" Engineer smiled, but cowed slightly under the old man's ever-present scorn, "..Sir."

"I'm not doing it out of the good of my heart," Blutarch said, leaning back. He could feel another death coming on so he had to make his intentions clear. "They have something I want. Something that was being developed by their late mayor: a mind-control machine!"

"A… mind-control machine, sir?" Engineer asked incredulously. Was such a thing even possible?

He couldn't get his answer immediately, however, as Blutarch Mann perished right before his eyes… again.

Thankfully it would only be a matter of seconds before he resurrected. It was only death, after all.

THE END (for real)


End file.
